Pinky Promise
by PhantomHeiress
Summary: Tony Stark had a best friend when he was younger, who he promised he would never leave. But when he became famous, those commitments got buried in the dust with his 5-year-old self. Now, his childhood promises are emerging again. And they're coming to flame him. Very mild AU. Tony/OC
1. The Beginning

Little kids' promises? They're pretty legitimate. There isn't really any sneaking around them, no ways to avoid them. Because if a little child looks up at you and promises, REALLY promises from the bottom of their soul, that you can play with the pirate ship next time, they mean it. (Unless, of course, they break the pirate ship. In which case, they believe the dragon action figure will please you just fine). Because there's an innocence to a child that will never be captured in adulthood. A pure, sweet innocence that makes their promises just as pure. Just as sweet.

**25 YEARS AGO**

Tony, a little scrawny 5-year-old with messy hair and a rather large ego, shoved his friend as hard as he possibly could into the grass.

"Hey!" Felicia's tiny voice squeaked as she skidded into the freshly cut plants. With Tony chuckling behind her, Felicia turned around and tried to brush the grass stains off of her shirt. No such luck. Grass stains obviously didn't brush away easily. Maybe the washing machine would be able to brush the grass stains off; the washing machine seemed good at that.

"Tony!" She whimpered dramatically, throwing her fists into the ground. "You said you wouldn't push me anymore!"

"Sorry, Fella!" Tony was still rolling with laughter, gathering a few grass stains of his own onto his toddler striped polo shirt. "I won't do it again, I swear!" Felicia grimaced at her nickname. 'Fella'. Ever since Pappa called her that ONCE, when Tony's keen devil ears were near, he picked up the dirty habit of calling her by it. Sometimes she wondered if he even remembered what her name was.

Tony reached out one small hand and struggled to help Felicia back onto her feet. They both sat down together, Tony squishing ants resolutely and Fella gazing thoughtfully at the sunset. At least, as thoughtfully as a five year old could manage.

"Mom told me I had to be back home by dinner." Fella turned to Tones and watched for a moment as he crushed an ant in his fingers while muttering 'DIEEEEEE….' But when he processed what she said, he stopped causing insect destruction and turned to her with worried eyes.

"Can't you just stay over for dinner again? My dad wouldn't mind." Tony offered simply. Felicia turned around and stared at the mansion behind her. Its many windows glinted down at her in the reflection of the red sun.

"No, Mom is making chicken fingers tonight. I can't miss that. You have to understand, right Tony?" Fella asked. All she wanted was for Anthony to say 'yes. Come back tomorrow, please.'

"Yeah." He said. "I wouldn't wanna miss chicken either." And it was back to squishing ants. Felicia stared at him again. For one moment. Then two, which turned into three, until he caught her gaze. "Why are you lookin' at me so funny, Fella?" He squirmed slightly under her pressurized stare.

"You and I are gonna turn out great as older kids, aren't we?" She asked.

"I'm going to grow a beard." Tony stroked his chin, which made Felicia crack into a bundle of laughter. "No, really, I am! I want to!"

"You're never going to leave, Tony, are you?" Felicia's voice dropped to almost silence, and she picked at the grass stains on her shirt. "I don't want you to leave."

"And let you alone on the sidewalks with the paint? No way, Fella! I'm never going to leave you! Imagine all the boys that would pick on you. Like Thomas." They both shuddered a considerable amount and muttered, "Ugh, Thomas."

Felicia turned to him with her eyes glazed in genuine concern. "You have to promise me, okay? You won't leave?"

"And if I do, I'll come back all the time."

"Okay. Pinky promise?" Felicia held up her smallest finger, extended in a pleading to her best friend. Tony locked pinkies with her immediately.

"Pinky promise. You and I are going to turn out swell, Felicia. We'll be just fine."

The wind swirled by their faces, and Fella struggled to keep a hold of her thin, golden hair. The breeze rushed by, whispering "If only."

If only.


	2. The Grass Ain't That Color, Fella

**Quick Note To Readers: **The great response that I got from this story took my breath away. Thank you so much! I hope that you warm souls will stick the story through with me. ;) It should be ridiculously fun.

**KINDERGARTEN -**

"My colors suck." Tony snatched the color box away from Fella, looking over the rows of sharpened crayons with confusion. "How do you keep yours so pretty?" he glanced back and forth from his paper to the crayons, hoping that they would magically start coloring a masterpiece. No such luck. Fella snatched the crayons back.

"Because I don't stab my paper with them, Tony." Fella sneered. She selected a lovely shade of...red...and began coloring in the grass. Warm sunlight beamed through the classroom's windows, speckling down on the kindergarten's tables.

"Yeah, well..." Tony looked at his own mutilated pile of wax. He stuttered to think of a viable comeback. "It's art, Fella." He finally sneered in her ear. "I can do what I want with it."

"It's not art if it looks bad."

"Says who?"

"Says me."

"Did the painter from Elmo say that?" Tony asked, believing he had just settled the argument with such a profound comeback. Half of him was expecting the room to burst with applause and for roses to be thrown in his direction.

"Well," Fella bit her bottom lip. "No."

"Well, he is an artist. And you ain't." With that, Tony took one of Fella's crayons and began coloring, a little softer, on his paper. She turned her head down. Tony was right. The Elmo man WAS an artist. How was she supposed to compete with that? So she went back to her own coloring.

"Why are you coloring the grass that color, Fella?" Tony stopped and stared at Felicia's vibrant fuchsia grass. "Grass ain't that color, Fells." She paused, staring down in panic at her crayon.

"It isn't?" her voice was almost inaudible.

"No, it's green." Tony took the proper green out of the box so Fella could exchange it for her red. Because he was a proper gentleman - boy- and he would have the decency to get Fella her crayon.

"But Tony," Felicia looked back and forth between the two colors. Red and green. "Those two are exactly the same." Tony's forehead crinkled with confusion when he saw the truth in Fella's eyes. The colors were opposites though, red and green. And grass wasn't red. He didn't say anything for a long moment, so Fella blushed with a fierce embarrassment and turned back to coloring her grass red.

"Maybe I see the world different than you, Tony. And that should be okay. That IS okay."

**PRESENT**

Thursday night, inventor and billionaire Tony Stark introduced his latest intuitive software. The television crooned on and on. Tony this. Tony that. Maybe an interview or two, catching the genius standing in front of his massive, palatial home with fangirls screaming in the background. 'Meant to inspire the human mind' Stark's own voice came from the TV set. 'Not that my mind needs any inspiring, but maybe YOURS.' And the fangirls raved when Tony blew a kiss at the camera.

Fella had glazed eyes, while stirring her hot chocolate monotonously, fixed on the screen. The world outside her dingy apartment dulled down, but the traffic noises, the shouting, and the clamor never quieted. Horns echoing down the brick alleyways reminded Fella that the only world out there was a world of slow-creeping taxi cabs and hardly-ever-creeping work schedules. Barely scraping by with the bills was constant. Sometimes, she wasn't scraping by at all; she was only accumulating more debt on top of her old student loans.

But the television showed a different world. How could two human beings, bred in the same environment as younglings, grow so very far apart? She wondered. And why was it Fella who got stuck here?

"When are you going to turn that stupid thing off?" Fella's roommate entered the living room from the bathroom. Vanessa was constantly harping. Nothing Fella ever did could be quite right for Vanessa. The kitchen was always too dirty, the garbage was never taken out, the windows needed cleaning, the bathroom smelled funny -

Fella didn't give the decent response, instead only clicking the off button on the remote and watching as the screen went from a strange blue to black. Vanessa huffed and slammed her bedroom door closed. Music to Fella's ears. If only Vanessa stayed in her room and stayed quiet forever, life would be a peach.

Sometimes Fella wondered what kind of prison sentence she would face if she made Vanessa quiet by force. But prison didn't seem fun. So Felicia kept her angry ideas in her head.

She stood up to put her glass in the sink. Was the mug red or green? Fella would never know. One of the drawbacks of being colorblind. But she had slowly grown into it. Eventually, she embraced the fact that she would never know what purple was. She would only know it as a murky brown, blending with other colors like blue. When she turned around there was another magazine, sitting on the kitchen table, with a cover that screamed up at her.

"TONY STARK'S NEW INTUITIVE COMPUTER SYSTEM! LOOK AT IT FELLA! LOOK AT IT!"

"I don't care about your stupid ideas anymore, Tony." She crumpled up the magazine and chucked it into the wastebasket. Maybe in the morning she would feel different about him.

Doubtful.

She walked sullenly toward her room, where she hoped she could stave off some of her midnight hunger by sleeping. No more chocolate tonight. Chocolate was bad.

Suddenly, a sharp, white hot pain rocketed up her nerve system. She cried out (a few words more… colorful… than she usually spoke), and plucked the lego out of her heel.

"Wha…WHAT?" She breathed quietly. "I didn't even know we had legos! Why do we have legos?" It looked up at her, shiny red, and mocked her with as much mockery as an inanimate object can manage. And she threw it into the living room, where she would probably end up stepping on it again in the morning.


	3. To Flame or Not To Flame?

_**Note To Those Amazing People Called 'Readers':** A HUGE thank you from me! I'm glad you guys are interested, and I hope that interest turns into a like for the story! :D More, super fun chapters to come, so hang on for the fun. You all are doing something for me, by reading and reviewing, that means so much. _

_Stay awesome, eat breakfast, and don't feed the squirrels. _

**NORMAL POV**

**FIRST GRADE**

"It's called 'dodgeball'," The teacher paced in front of the many eager-faced young children. Each one was sitting stalk-straight on the gymnasium floor, some of them adjusting their shoes, others braiding their hair. But all of them in a neat line. Fella was sitting very slouched-over as the teacher explained the rules of dodgeball. It didn't sound fun. At all.

"If there's any goofing around, so help me, I will drag you up to the principal's office by your ears." And then the teacher shot a glaring look at Tony, who was sitting on the opposite end of the line from Fella. He only smirked warmly, perking up when his eyes locked with the instructor's.

Then, when the teacher continued to drone about the rules, Tony leaned forward and looked all the way over at Fella.

"You're going down." He mouthed, simultaneously running a finger over his throat. Fella stuck her tongue out at him. What an insult to his pride! No one ever stuck their tongue out at Tony Stark! This only solidified his iron-clad will to drive Fella to the floor.

"Why do I hear talking?" The teacher's snapped comment made Tony come out of his daydreaming.

"Because you have ears?" Tony said, blinking up innocently. The teacher sneered down at him as the class fluttered with laughter. Fella cracked a smile, which particularly interested Tony, and he tried to get a better view of it as his classmate's laughter floated up to the ceiling.

"Anthony." The teacher's stern voice stopped the chuckles and the class's eyes dropped straight to the floor. "Give me one more reason, and I'll have you sit out of the game."

Tony wouldn't give him one more reason. Sitting out of dodgeball? No thank you. That would be one missed opportunity to kick Fella's trash at SOMETHING. Because she whooped him at everything else. Except seeing colors; he had her on that.

But she seemed to know everything else. How many letters in the alphabet (which they hadn't even learned yet, mind you), what animals were the largest, which were the smallest. She even knew the smallest bone in the human body. ("It's a little one in your ear. I remember because I broke mine and the doctors had to take it out." She had said. "I get earaches all the time.")

But Tony was going to beat her at something - ANYTHING.

"Tony!" Fella called at him. He looked up to realize the game had already begun. "Dodge this!" And the foam ball collided with Tony's face, forcing him back.

He would beat her one day.

Just not today.

**PRESENT**

"No, I'll get that, don't worry." Felicia adjusted the Bluetooth in her ear. She hated that stupid Bluetooth. Right now, all she wanted was to chuck it out the window and watch it fall, helplessly, to the ground 28 floors below. She could practically imagine the shiny silver plastic shattering into a billion pieces, and then she could get some time to herself.

Right now, however, it was ringing off the hook. Fella hardly had the time to get from one side of her desk to the other without it going off again. She sighed and brushed her hair with her fingertips over her shoulder. So many things to get done: stories to write for the news, articles to edit, higher editors biting her neck every few moments for trivial mistakes. And all Fella could do was tuck her pencil behind her ear and hold onto the bull.

Being a newswriter sucked.

Being a news editor on top of that sucked squared.

But it was exactly what Fella wanted to do with her life ever since she was in middle school and had the opportunity to sign up for journalism. Even if her editors looked at her like a two year old coloring on the walls, she liked to journal-ize. She'd also been climbing for this position for years.

"What?" Fella screamed when she got another call. "But we aren't sending to press until next week for that! Can't you tell him to bump the date?" A mumbling came from that dreaded bluetooth. "That'll hardly give me time to edit the first draft! How does he expect me to have that done if-" The glass door to Fella's office opened with a click and then closed again. Felicia peered over a stack of papers on her desk to see who was there to greet her. "I'm going to have to call you back." And she ripped the Bluetooth out of her ear.

"Felicia Montgomery!" Editor-In-Chief Daveth Winston stood smiling by the door. The hum-drum activity of writers coursed on outside the office, moving like the steady pulse of a heart. "It's been a while since you and I have had a little chat, hasn't it?"

"Quite a while, yes." Felicia covered her grimace as she shook hands with her superior. "I think the last time you paid me a visit, it was because you were firing me."

"But we hired you back, eh?" Winston was far too happy about it.

"Yeah, suppose so." Fella was all too self-conscious now about the way she was looking. She didn't like the guy, but the last thing she needed was to be kicked off staff again. "What brings you around?" She leaned back on her desk, pushing off one of the papers as it fluttered to the floor. Daveth looked at it for a moment, but Fella ignore it completely.

"You okay, Montgomery?"

"It's Fella. And I'm fine. I stepped on a Lego this morning, but I'm fine."

"You wouldn't believe this opportunity I got for you, Montgomery."

"Fella. Just call me Fella."

"Right, well." Daveth brushed the comment off like nothing. "I got you a travel job." He beamed brightly and handed Fella a bright blue folder he was holding. She took it warily. Since when did Winston work hard to get Fella travel jobs? Travel jobs were usually the big guns: Hollywood, celebrities, Brad Pitt and jazz like that. He gave those stories to writers with more experience.

_Oh, please let it be Brad Pitt, please let it be Brad Pitt,_ she thought to herself, _Or Tom Cruise. I'd like to interview Tom Cruise. Or Tom Hiddleston!_

She cracked open the folder, quickly darting all the way down past the hotel reservation details, the story outline, the due date, and scanned for her topic. Her face immediately fell. Her heart dropped to the floor and scraped against the tile.

"What?" Winston peered over the folder. "Do you have something against Malibu?" He looked up thoughtfully at her eyes with his own. He had two strong gray eyes, matching perfectly with his jaw line and fit physique.

"I don't have anything against Malibu." Which was a bit of a lie. Last time she went there, she almost got her hand sucked off by a stingray. That may be a bit of an over-exaggeration, but Malibu didn't sit quite well with Fella's stomach; even if the stingray wasn't as vicious as she made it out to be. That wasn't the reason she was anti-this-story. "I have an issue with THAT." She flipped the folder around to face Winston and pointed at the topic of her story. "Tony Stark?"

"Montgomery..."

"Fella..."

"Whatever." Winston continued, "You wouldn't believe how many writers begged me to give them that story! Do you know how many of them want to speak with Tony Stark? And travel to Malibu? We have first class tickets all lined up, and a private interview with Stark in a couple weeks! Not to mention the Stark Expo. You'll pretty much have free reign to everything in that place, all because of this story." He scoffed gently, setting one manicured hand on the desk. "You're going to pass that all up? And for what, even?"

"I don't like that guy." Fella stuttered after a moment of choosing her words very carefully. Screaming 'BECAUSE I HAD CHILDHOOD ISSUES WITH HIM, OKAY?' just didn't seem appropriate. Winston eyed her suspiciously, looking over the job review for a moment. Down below on the streets of LA, a taxi cab honked its blaring horn in the afternoon sun. The sun's rays in themselves were enough to kill a small town if they were angled right, because the temperatures were brutal. Right now, that sunlight was beaming on Fella's neck and itched down her skin as she waited for Daveth to respond.

"Well, it seems like you don't have to like him after all." Winston pointed out a little detail that Fella looked over in her panic. A tiny little word on the bottom of the paper, printed ever so delicately in stunning red ink, that said 'Flame'. "It's a flame article."

Flame. Meaning Fella got to dig up as much filthy dirt about the guy that she could to type up in beautiful formatting and sell to the public. A mean, vicious, raving report that targeted only the undesirable qualities in its victim and then magnified them immensely. Flame stories were hard to come by, harder to organize, and even more difficult to get the moral instability to write. Who would want to trash another human being for a paycheck? Never Fella. She denied any flame that walked her way.

But flaming Tony Stark?

Sign her up.

Felicia closed the folder, took it out of Daveth's hand, and set it very gently on her desk. It tipped for a moment among the towers of paperwork, and then slid down to where Fella would easily see it later.

"Winston, you got yourself a writer." Fella said, gripping Daveth's hand in her own. She still felt like cringing on the outside when he touched her, but her imagining herself setting Tony Stark alight with press made her discount any discomfort she was feeling.

"That's fantastic, Montgomery. Pack your things. You head out the day after tomorrow." And with that, Winston left the office and paraded down the hall to ruin some poor writer's day like he usually did. The guy knew how to strut like a pompous brat, Fella admitted that much.

She leaned back and sighed, gazing down at that vibrant blue folder; the word 'flame' stuck out at her now, searing red, beautiful, dangerous. She stuck her Bluetooth back in her ear and looked out at the midday skyline.

"You still there?" She asked into the earpiece. "Great. Cancel the story I needed written. I'm going to set fire to Malibu."

**xXxXx**

"You can't possibly go to Malibu!" If anyone had to oppose Fella, it would be Vanessa. Which was funny. One would think that after Vanessa's constant hating if Fella, she would be relieved to get her out of the apartment for a month. Be rid of Fella for at least 20 days. That way Vanessa could fend for herself any way she'd like. But, NO! Obviously nothing Felicia could do was okay for Vanessa, even if it was getting out of Van's hair completely.

"That's weird. I thought it was possible." Fella folded up another one of her V-neck tee shirts and stuffed it into the suitcase: a suitcase now teeming with clothes and toiletries. "Since the press is paying for the whole thing and everything." Vanessa's nose crinkled up in annoyance, smudging her oh-so-perfect make-up.

"And who'll pay the bills?" Van sneered.

"You."

"Who'll do the dishes?"

"You."

"Who'll finish the laundry?"

"That's you too." Fella didn't think she could fit any more clothes in the travel bag. "I think it's about time for a grown woman like yourself to take some responsibility." Fella, as serious as she was, couldn't help but lace her words with sarcasm. Because sarcasm was very fun. It also made Vanessa splendidly mad. Jealousy was spreading like wildfire all through Vanessa's face.

"Now if you wouldn't mind leaving my room," Fella continued, briefly looking over the floor for her lost bottle of lotion. "I'm starting to get an earache."

"You always complain about those stupid earaches!" Vanessa whined. But at least she was whining as she walked toward the door. "Why don't you just get something from the doctor?"

"I've told you before, Vanessa, I broke my stirrup bone, I can hardly-"

"I know, I know!" Van snapped and flipped around to glare at Fella before she exited. "You broke the one bone, and now it hurts like hell, and one day you'll go legally deaf in that ear! Blah, blah," Vanessa mocked as she walked down the hallway.

Fella laughed to herself, still looking for that bottle of lotion. The dreary bedroom in the dreary apartment was dreary in the dreary light cast from outside. Fella, all of a sudden, got a rush of excitement in her stomach. She would be LEAVING, if only for a month, she would be living in better conditions, sleeping in a solid bed, eating good food. That feeling of excitement bubbled around a little bit, fluttered around her heart. And when she thought about being forced to interview Anthony Stark, the fluttering only dropped a little bit. Because, surely, he wouldn't recognize her!

She had changed so much, after all.

Fella stood up and walked toward the bathroom. A white-hot pain rocketed up her leg, originating from her foot. She yelped, reached down, and pried the shiny red Lego from her heel. Then she pointed at it and muttered, in an evil way-

"I warned you to stop migrating. Now I have no other choice than to melt you down." And off to the kitchen she headed to find the best pot for such an action.

Tony had changed a lot, too.

More than Fella knew. But she would find out.

And what she would find out would change her outlook on everything, the way she viewed the world.

Tony Stark would change her entire life. He would change HER.

But none of that, now. Felicia Montgomery had a red Lego to melt down.


	4. Starting a Potato Current

_**Note to readers!** I knew you guys would catch the red lego thing. And yes, actually, it DOES have something to do with the plot. XD This chapter is a short one, just getting started into the plot. I can't WAIT until next chapter, let me tell you!_

_Wow. Thank you so much, SO MUCH for the feedback. For the reviews, the favorites, the follows. I'm absolutely flattered, astonished. Floored, even. Thank you more than anything._

**SECOND GRADE**

Fella always hated the time of the year when science projects came around. Because, of course, they were a required part of the curriculum gradient scale. And there was no way Fella was going to sacrifice a good grade just because she was partners with Anthony.

It was hard, though, to stay focused, when Tony kept taking apart all the materials to look at the insides of them. Tony, currently, had pried apart the electrical box that was attached to a small string of lights. He prodded around the wires.

"So how do you think they get these things to work?" Tony took a small wire out to look at what was underneath it. "I mean, the lights and everything." Fella turned and crossed her arms at him. She had been working very hard to select the perfect potato.

"Tones, we're making a potato battery. Not the Eiffel Tower." She went back to scanning over the vegetables.

"The Eiffel Tower's already been done anyway." Tony rolled over, and continued his poking of wires. He was having issues grasping Fella's hints. She wanted to get him working on the project. He wanted to see how long he could test fate until he got electrocuted.

"Well, do something, Tony! I don't want to be the only person participating in this horrible thing!" Fella scratched her arm with her short fingernails and stared at the empty display board thoughtfully. "Why don't you pick out a couple colors for the display. And you should ask your dad if he'll help us out, because I have no idea what I'm doing."

Tony ignored the last part. Getting the attention of his father required going up the stairs, and the idea of it suddenly made Tony very tired. So he wriggled his way over to the pile of construction paper sitting in the corner and flicked through it. Fella only sat down, stared at the diagram of a potato battery, and tried to sound out the first word.

"I like these two, Fella. Don't you?" Tony held up two pieces of paper. One was gold, and the other was also gold. "Red and gold go great together, don't they?" Fella bit her lip. Sometimes Tony forgot that she couldn't see some colors. But that was okay. She forgave him pretty easy.

She had to learn to forgive him a lot. Because he did a lot of stupid things.

"Yeah, uh…" Fella tucked her hair behind her ear and looked back down at the diagram. "Yeah, I trust you, Tony."

He realized his mistake. "Sorry, Fella. I forgot. I'll pick a different color. One that we can both see."

"No, all the colors that I see go ugly together." Fella looked back up at the papers. "Go ahead and use those! Really." Tony shrugged and picked out more gold and red papers from the pile. Fella continued to look at his selections. Usually, there was no discernable difference between the two colors, but now, one of them was starting to appear just a little different. Just a little.

Fella turned away, brushing away these thoughts, and went back to sounding out "Potato."

**PRESENT**

Taxi cabs in Malibu, Fella soon realized, were twice as clean as the ones back home. But that wasn't saying too much. Half of that was because Fella was completely undead from the plane ride, and spent most of her taxi trips slumped against the door, drooling on the pleather. Because an evil little baby on the plane kept Fella wide awake by throwing up on her mother every thirty minutes. This almost made Fella solidify a resolve to never have children. But before such a resolve could be pacted in her brain, the taxi pulled up and to a stop.

"There you go, lady." The driver, a man in his late thirties with dusty hair, tapped Fella's shoe to get her attention. She sat up and rubbed her aching head. "There's the hotel you directed me toward."

Fella squinted through the window and up at the gleaming hotel. It was lavish, extremely fine details, with several different bellboys waiting eagerly to snatch the visitor's bag up and carry it to the guest's room. With the condition Fella was used to, her immediate reaction was –

"This can't be the right one. My company doesn't have the money for this." Fella sat back, waiting for the man to drive on to a different hotel.

"Then your company must have gotten Iron Man to pay the difference, because this is your hotel." Even though his voice was laden in sarcasm, Fella realized that he might actually be right. And before she could be chewed out anymore by this sweaty person, she grabbed her bag and stumbled out onto the sidewalk.

The taxi lurched away.

Fella threw back her hair and stared up at the glinting windows. In her old jeans and off-brand converse shoes, she felt less-than-out of the ordinary in this sophisticated area. The only thing she could think to do was stand up a little straighter as she approached the doors. The bellboys snapped up her bags anyway, and with a smile, reminding Fella that it was their job to be polite to any customer.

She didn't even care if those were false smiles they were giving her. She could get used to this. She could really get used to this. It couldn't get much better.

**xXx**

Fella was wrong. It got better. She didn't even know that a bed could be so ridiculously puffy. Who made beds this puffy? She wanted to shake the hand of the CEO of this mattress company. When she fell down onto the bed and no dust came up, she was in pure bliss. Even though the mattress nearly ate her.

That was just fine.

The room was beautifully ornate, from the molded ceilings to the silk lampshades, all the way down to the tiny LED lights on the edge of the tub and shower. But what really stunned her was the skyline. Palm trees, palm trees surrounding beautiful buildings. And Fella made a commitment after seeing the beach that she was going to drink out of one of those cute little glasses with the umbrellas.

Malibu was going to be great. And Fella was finally starting to get into this whole thing. She clicked on the flat screen TV to try to ease away some of the jet lag. Maybe even pop her ears.

Her ears didn't want to pop.

Especially when they were greeted by Tony Stark's voice coming from the television. She clicked the button off immediately, turning the screen as black as her mood had just gone. Because she had forgotten that she was here for Tony.

"Oh, frick." She suddenly muttered. "I have a ticket to the Stark Expo tomorrow."

She chucked her water bottle at the wall.


	5. Different Similarities

**Note to Readers: YES! I am so excited for the rest of this story, you don't even know! The plotline is kicking back up now. Thank you for all your support. It means the world. I try as hard as I can to write good, (mostly) clean, and not Mary-Sue-ish stuff, which makes me thrilled that you are all appreciating it! **

**Take an imaginary hug from me. And If you don't like hugs, take an imaginary fist-bump. **

**TO THE STORY!**

**THIRD GRADE - SUMMER**

"Give it back, Anthony."

"Don't tell me what to do." Tony sneered.

Fella hated it when he said that. She hated it so much. And he had kidnapped her favorite notebook (the good one, with butterflies on the front) and was holding it hostage. He knew exactly how to dig deep into Fella's nerves. So what else was she to do, really? In retrospect, what came next was entirely Tony's fault.

She punched him as hard in the arm as an eight year old could manage. He screamed and fell to the ground, dropping the coveted notebook in the process. Fella picked it out of the grass, brushed it off, and scoffed in his face.

So what was he to do, really? He stood up and punched HER as hard as he could in the arm. She also screamed, and fell down to the grass (still clutching onto her notebook for dear life). She clenched her teeth and held onto her throbbing shoulder.

In retrospect, though, it was all her fault.

There was about to be an all-out war to be raged between the two youngsters, who were now preparing their battle stations for the coming onslaught. Fella tucked her notebook tightly into the nearby bush and prepared herself. She was standing near the Mudpit. That, at least, would provide her with a great advantage. But Tony had the garden hose.

This wasn't going to be pretty.

Before the children could completely mangle each other, the back door to Fella's house opened and her mother peeked her head out. Fella always thought her mom was pretty, with thick red hair that was always pinned into a bun. Tony and Fella stopped to look up at her eagerly.

"Chinese is on the table. Come inside and get cleaned up." Fella's mother stated simply before retreating back into the house.

"I LOVE CHINESE!" Tony and Fella looked at each other for a long moment. And Fella was super close to making a truce with Tony by giving him a hug. But he ruined it with -

"Fella, can I have your fortune cookie?"

She punched him in the arm. Because, in retrospect, it was all his fault.

**PRESENT**

_Fella Journalism Journal: Day One: Stark Expo. I've found it to be a few things, and will thus sequentially type such things into a definition for easier understandability (that's not a word and I don't care)(if that IS a word, I'm officially declaring myself a genius)._

_The Stark Expo: Noun: A place where mainly preteen girls gather to swoon over Tony Stark and the many gadgets that they don't understand._

_Other definitions: 1) Overly crowded. 2) Tremendous lack of food. 3) My thorough knowledge of Bear Grylls may come in here somewhere, because I have no idea how to get out._

_See also: Hell._

Fella tucked her pen back behind her ear, shoved her notebook back into her bag, and sighed. The crowd around her pulsed back and forth, girls screaming and running to catch up with friends. People were wearing Iron Man suit copies, and eating fair food. All around Fella, at the many different stands and stations, came different booming voices of the pre-recorded videos.

She swung her camera back around her shoulder and put her head on her knees.

This sucked.

There were massive metal displays everywhere one could turn, each boasting a different section of the expo. And each one was, in some way or another, centered around Tony Stark. No good little narcissist. Fella was only inches away from cracking into a billion pieces. She would have to come back to the expo the next day, as well, since today she was too depressed to get any information. All she could do was sit in her own pity and nearly drown in it, before willing herself to surface for air.

"Ma'am!" It took Fella a moment to realize that the voice was angled toward her. She looked up slowly to see one of the men at the displays coaxing her over. "Would you like to see how a single current battery works when it's used with Stark's self-sustaining energy?"

"You mean like a rudimentary potato battery?"

"Except using Stark sustainable energy."

"The last thing I want right now," Fella sneered, "is to see how a single current battery works when it's used with Stark's self sustaining energy." The man was taken aback by the fact that her rudeness was coupled with such sweet simplicity. "Capeshe?" so he turned around to target someone else.

Fella stood up in the crowd, barely finding room to move on the pavement. She went up to a guide, who was being swarmed by fangirls asking "HOW CAN I MEET TONY STARK?" over and over and over and over...

Fella didn't feel bad at all when one particular fangirl glared up at her with seething hatred. "Can you tell me where the nearest drinking fountain is?" Her question wasn't meant to be taken all-too-seriously. But apparently there WERE drinking fountains, because the guide pointed out the way to go. Fella thanked him shortly, and then waded through the masses, still feeling the glare of that one girl on her back.

Following the guide's instructions, she was very pleased to find herself in an empty section of the expo; an alleyway between buildings were there were probably displays and such located inside. Broken neon "STARK" signs were lined up against one of these buildings, one of them flickering ever so slightly. Fella caught sight of the drinking fountain attached to the side of this building, and headed over for it.

"I can't believe I took this job," she muttered darkly. "Stupid 'Oh, don't worry Montgomery, it's a good article'. Bull dust. I hate this place." She clicked the button and the water fountain sputtered to life. "I wonder how many years I'd be facing if I blew it up..."

"I would say at least 79 and a half years. Give or take whether or not the judge was having an off day."

Fella's eyes widened and she flipped away from the drinking fountain to see the owner of that all-too-familiar voice. None other than Tony Stark (and two of his bodyguard goons) was staring back at her.

And this wave of emotion backhanded Fella across the face. Her initial reaction was pure hatred, because it was her gut reaction to anything Tony Stark related. But then, she couldn't help but think-

'He's so grown up. But, my hell, he's short.' followed by an aching desire to punch him in the arm like they would do as kids. She restrained herself from the violence; those bodyguards were more buff than she liked. And then it was back to the hatred.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled shortly, pulling back her reddish gold hair. "I didn't mean to get in your way."

"You weren't in my way." Tony said smoothly. "But if you blow up my expo, you might be." To which the guards eyes Fella's camera bag warily. She glared at them.

"It's a camera. Not C4." She sneered.

"What's your name?" Tony was humored at the whole thing, even though his guards were becoming slowly more irritated.

"You know, I would tell you, but I'm not going to give you that satisfaction." She reached down to pick up her pencil off the pavement. "You think that by me telling you my name, I'll get some sort of fangirl glee by thinking Tony Stark wanted to know who I was. But, I assure you, it's quite the opposite for me." Tony stared at her dumbfoundedly, tucking his hands away into his suit pockets.

"Geez, you DO sound like a journalist."

Fella stared at him for a moment longer, before she turned around and walked away without saying anymore. Tony ran to catch up with her as they headed back to the expo. Where he would eventually be swarmed by fangirls.

"Just tell me your name, since it seems like I'll be talking to you later." Tony asked again. Fella ignored him. "You know I'm bound to find out eventually. I have the resources."

"You wouldn't waste them on a stranger."

"Now I might. Just to spite you."

Fella stopped and glared at him. He stopped and glared back. She couldn't believe that he was standing inches away from her. The one person that she wanted most in the world to break the nose of, and now when she had the chance, she couldn't will herself to do it. After all, that was the face of her used-to-be friend. And although his attitude had changed, and his status was glorious (and she hated him), she couldn't bring herself to punch that face.

It was like looking back into her past.

And the hated it.

"Like you said…" Fella took a turn and Tony stopped to watch her leave. "You'll find out eventually." He stood at the end of the alley, watching her for a moment longer before heading on to the expo with his guards. Stupid little haters didn't interest him.

Fella was stomping more than walking, as she wondered to herself if there was any way to get out of this mess. She thought before now that she would be able to push through the article. But with the interview slowly creeping its way closer and closer (and after the encounter with Stark), she was dreading it.

Not only would she have to sit across from him, she would have to sit across from her childhood and memories.

She couldn't decide which one scared her more.

**xXxXx**

"No, Happy, you should have seen her." Tony tried to spit the words out through his toothpaste. "She was so flipping gorgeous."

"Are we still talking about the girl in the alleyway?"

"No, there was this smoking television reporter." Tony spit out into the sink and rinsed his mouth. "The girl in the alleyway was just another hater."

"Ah." Happy flipped a page in the magazine he was reading and put both legs up on Stark's expensive sofa. "So are you still going to go through the interview with her?"

Happy glanced out the window at the ocean. It was shimmering lightly in the dusky air. Something calm and sweet. Tony hardly ever took the time to look at it, to appreciate it. But Happy did.

"Why not? I like having journalism articles written about me. They usually make me look better than I am, you know?" Tony shoved his toothbrush back into the massive mirror cabinet, which then closed automatically. "She seemed kinda familiar though." Tony looked up into his own reflection. "I can't place where I met her before."

"Probably at a convention."

"That's what I was thinking." Tony walked out of the bathroom and into the grand lounge. "What do you want to eat tonight? I think I'll just order Chinese."

Happy hummed his approval.

"Chinese is always good."

xXxXx

"Can I really have Chinese food delivered to my hotel room?" Fella, who was lying pleasantly on her stomach on her overly-plush bed, kicked her feet back and forth in the air. The voice on the other end of the phone replied. "I love Chinese food. Bring two of each, if that's okay? Alright… yeah… no problem. Kay, thanks… bye."

Fella slammed the phone back onto the charger and flipped around to stare at the ceiling. Chinese food every night? Maybe this whole thing wouldn't be so bad.

After all, Chinese was always good.


	6. The Slaughtering of Butterflies

**Note to Readers: **Can I just tell you all how flattered I am for your following? I mean, seriously, I don't think you understand how grateful I am. I know eventually you'll cuss me out and tell me to stop thanking you, but until that day I'm going to shower you with thank yous.

I would shower you with hugs if it weren't so socially unacceptable.

Or creepy.

If you send me a review, a tree in the Rain Forest gets over its self esteem issues. Let's help some trees with their inner problems!

**NORMAL POV**

**Fifth Grade Summer - Fella's and Tony's annual amusement park trip of death and peeing yourself (as named by none other than Tony)**

"Come on, Fella. You're tall enough! See, they'll let us on!" Tony stomped his feet impatiently by the loading dock of the coaster. Felicia kept one of her fingers in her mouth, gazing up at the loops of the ride. Another cart was going up the hill, clanking down to meet her ears. She looked away quickly before the cart flew down the hill.

"I don't know about this one," She mumbled slowly. Tony rolled his eyes and put one hand in his jacket pocket.

"My Dad paid for us to come to this place, and I won't let you ruin the whole trip for me." Tony sneered at her. Fella counted how many hills there were on the ride, debating whether or not it was worth the stress. Tony took a long pause, waiting for her to make up her mind. But, being the impatient kid that he was, Tony decided her silence was answer enough for him.

"Fine, I'll go without you. Stay here until the ride gets over." Tony nodded at the ride worker and slipped into one of the seats. He pulled the bar down and leaned up against the back, looking at Fella to give her a final chance. She put one of her feet on top of the other. "See ya later, Fella…"

"No! Wait! Okay, fine! Fine!" Felicia shook her head, slipping through the gate and joining Tony in the cart. A smile cracked his face in half as he lifted the bar for her to slide in. "If I die on this thing, I'm going to come back as a spirit and make your life a living hell."

Tony raised an eyebrow at Fella's curse (she never cussed), but found himself a little more than just amused with the situation. He fidgeted on the seat, slicking back his hair and leaning forward to look up the old wooden hill.

"Looks pretty unstable." He mentioned, making Fella slam her head into the back of the cart in front of them. The solid 'thunk' her skull made created another smile on Tony's face. And the train jerked to a start, crawling its way slowly forward and onto the initial hill. Fella leaned back, trying to keep focused on the top of what seemed like the mountainous climb; Tony was drumming on the seat and looking around at the scenery, pointing at things for Fella to look at.

"You know, Tony," Fella looked at her fifth grader friend, "this is the part where you're supposed to tell me that things are going to be fine. Pat my shoulder."

"Right, sorry." Tony cleared his throat in time with the clanking of the track below. "Fella. You'll probably be fine. But if you throw up on me, I will kill your dog."

"I don't even have a dog."

"Then I'll buy you one. And then kill it in front of you." Tony leaned out the side and stared down at the ground far below. They kept inching farther into the sky, making the other rides seem like child's toys. He was scoping out which one he wanted to go on next.

"Don't make me push you out of this cart."

"Then don't make me kill your dog."

They were coming toward the top of the hill, and they could feel the ride slow ever so slightly as it crested over the top. Fella took a deep breath, but upon further examination found that the drop wasn't as horrifying as she had made it out to be. The cart was barely moving now, balancing at the top of the hill.

"Hey, this isn't too bad!" Fella laughed, feeling the butterflies swarm in her stomach as she waited for the ride to drop. She glanced at Tony, who was gripping onto the seat with sweating hands, a clenched jaw, and wide eyes. "Say, Tony, are you okay?"

"Holy crap, why are we slowing down so bad?" Tony's words came from a tight jaw, his eyes locked on the steep track that they were_ supposed _to be going down. "Fella, I think the ride is stalling…"

"Sweet!" Felicia turned around and looked down at the loading dock. Several amusement workers were chatting together, pointing up at the stopped train and attempting to figure out how to get it to go down the hill. "How long do you think we get to stay up here?" Fella gasped happily and Tony flinched as he gripped onto the bar a little tighter. "What if we're up here for an hour? How cool would that be? I didn't know you were afraid of heights, Tony."

"Heights are fine. But only if I'm in control." Tony mumbled.

"Right. Of course." The roller coaster gave a couple clanks and the ride lurched back to a start.

They plummeted down the hill, gliding on the track like some sort of elegant animal. Fella screamed and reached out, putting her hand on top of Tony's. The ride rocketed around a turn, growling with the strength that only a wooden roller coaster could have.

Tony laughed, the wind whipping his hoodie strings back. He looked down at Felicia's hand, gripping his own as she obviously went back to her initial fear. He nudged her softly in the ribs as they glided along a stretch of track. She paused for a moment and then nudged him back.

He could get used to this.

**xXxXx**

_**PRESENT**_

Day two at Stark Expo seemed to be just a little bit better than day one. Maybe it was just the end of the fair that Fella had been on. But there was a whole other side that she hadn't seen the day before toward the other end of the Expo. Or maybe it was better because Fella hadn't yet encountered Tony, nor was she in any different mood that condoned the meeting. It was a slim chance encounter the day before, and it was unlikely that it was going to happen again.

So why couldn't she enjoy herself while she was there? Why not? After all, once the two weeks were over, Fella would be back to her normally mundane life in her normally mundane apartment at her normally mundane job. She made an inner commitment to have fun – try out all the high tech stuff around her.

And after experiencing several different simulations and watching a mass of Rube Goldberg machines on steroids, she actually started to feel happy. It only took a bowl of nitrogen-frozen ice cream to convince her that the Stark Expo was her new favorite place on earth. Of course, adding in the stipulation that Tony Stark was no where near her.

Then everything was a blast.

She tried to keep the thought of the interview that afternoon out of her head. She would cross that bridge when she got to it.

She slid her ice cream away from her on one of the chrome tables and spread out a map of the expo in front of her. She ran her finger along the places she'd already been to, trying to find a place to go to next. And one particular icon caught her attention.

"A roller coaster?" Fella looked up and around for the steel creation, even in the distance, but there were too many stands and simulation stations surrounding her for her to see anything. So she stood up and walked along the pathway to find a better vantage point to look for the ride.

And right when she turned the corner, the monstrous beast of a coaster met her view. It was probably half a mile away, but the structure towered into the sky. It was built with what seemed like an eternity of metal track, spiraling up toward heaven and dropping into a mess of loops, turns, and batwing inversions.

Fella froze, hypnotized as a dark spot rocketed up the first hill and then glided into a loop.

"One of the tallest coasters on earth. 400 feet at the maximum point." The voice snapped Felicia out of her stare. She looked over to the origin of it: one of the Expo workers with sandy brown hair. He must have been only in his twenties, and he was operating one of the flight simulations. "I guess that goes to show how Anthony is, right?"

"Yeah." Fella blinked, "How long has it been up?"

"He built it last year with the same contracting company that build Kingda Ka, but he made sure to use his own tech through the whole thing." The man leaned back on a pole and looked at it with the shell-shocked young woman. "Riders are laying down for the whole ride, can you believe it? I haven't gotten up the guts to get on myself, but I hear it's quite the high."

"Is the…" Fella squinted at the roller coaster, seeing if the ride actually did what she thought she saw. "Does the track give out up there?" She pointed to the top of a loop on the west side of the coaster. It seemed as if the track hadn't been finished yet, like some sort of monster had come down and taken a bite out of the metal.

"Yeah." He laughed. "Stark almost got his ass sued for that. But he made a specialized scale that weighs each train and then gives it the amount of power to get it over safely."

"You mean those people are going through a loop…" Fella turned to look at him with horror. "And there isn't any track along the top of it?" He shook his head. "And then they fall back down to make contact with the track again?"

"Exactly."

"Isn't that illegal?"

"Not when your name is Stark." The man nodded his goodbyes to Fella and began back to his station. "And not when you have the best tech in the world."

This little voice inside Felicia's head coaxed her to go on the ride and test it out for herself, but the bigger voice inside her told her that it was a deathtrap made of steel and nails. A little mess of butterflies fluttered around her stomach just looking at it. Maybe she could just stand in line, and if she didn't like the way it looked, she could get out again. It couldn't be so bad.

As she took her first couple steps toward it, Fella's watch screamed up at her. She groaned and checked the time, each little butterfly getting slaughtered individually. Riding the coaster would have to wait.

She had an interview to get to.

In ten damn minutes.

Nevermind, her watched beeped again.

That made it nine.


	7. Late for Nothing

_**NOTE TO READERS! EEEEE! **You all deserve a BILLION little soaps in the shapes of clams for being as awesome as you are. Thank you SO MUCH for your support! I'm so flattered and thrilled! I didn't think this story was going to gain much traction, but I was pleasantly surprised to see you all liking it! You're FANTASTIC with a capital EVERYTHING._

_This next chapter. Y'all are going to hate me. But it doesn't have the interview in it. Not yet. BUT ALMOST! SO close! It does have Fella/Tony banter in it, though. And I'm stoked for next chapter! I hope you like it as much as I liked writing it! _

_If you poke that review button, a desert lizard will suddenly discover its purpose in life. Let's help some lizards fulfill their dreams. xD _

**TO THE STORY! **

**Sixth Grade, on a social networking site. **

**_Fella Montgomery_**_has joined the chat. _**  
**

**Status Update?**

**YES**

NO

_**Fella Montgomery is **plotting revenge..._

_**Anthony "I'm awesome" Stark **has joined the chat. _

**Anthony:** It was just a hamster, Fella. Get over it. You can buy another one. It was starting to get ugly anyway.

_**Fella Montgomery is** getting the supplies ready to kill someone. _

**Anthony: **Fella, you don't mean ME, do you? _  
_

_**Fella Montgomery **is on her way to kill someone. _

_**Fella Montgomery **has left the chat._

**Anthony: **O.O_  
_

_**PRESENT**_

Fella barely collapsed into Stark's building as her watch beeped angrily up at her. Through the revolving door and up to the front desk where the receptionist watched her with careful eyes. They narrowed slightly when Fella threw her hair back and slammed her head into the counter. She was gasping for breath.

"My name!" She exclaimed, putting one hand up in the air triumphantly (but not raising her head), "Is Felicia Montgomery." She stopped to gasp, slackening her arm for just a moment, and then throwing it back into the air. "And I'm here for my 2'o'clock appointment for the interview with Stark!"

"Yeah..." The receptionist pulled open a drawer and flicked out an appointment booklet. "I've got you down here for 2." She looked back at Fella again, who was now looking around casually for a water fountain and fixing her off-kilter shirt.

"I'm not late, am I?" Fella asked nervously, shifting her gears from 'water fountain' to 'OHMIGOSH WHERE'S A CLOCK?'

"No, actually." The receptionist, who Fella was finally starting to take note of, said. "You're right on time." She was young for the job. But Fella wouldn't put it past Tony Stark to only hire the ones who could barely scrape by in their jobs, as long as they looked pretty doing it. And this particular receptionist sure was pretty. She was slender and tall (even though she was sitting down), and had a luscious amount of thick blonde hair that she had pulled back into her messy bun. Which, by the way, she pulled off perfectly. When Fella didn't respond after a moment, the lady crossed her legs and clicked a pencil on the countertop.

"Great. That's awesome." Fella glanced back out through the doors and at the (what seemed like a billion miles away) Stark Expo. She flipped back around to look at the receptionist, who was obviously not very pleased. "Have you here at Stark's workshop ever considered moving this building closer to the Expo?"

"How would we move it?" The young woman asked slowly, taking a particular pause to think over the situation.

"Batman. Hire Batman." Fella gave her first (and decided it would be her last) attempt at a smile, but the receptionist remained completely ice calm. "It was a joke. You know, it's not illegal to smile at something. I mean, it wasn't funny, but come on."

"Your appointment is going to have to be pushed back." The receptionist ignored Felicia's final attempts at a smile and went right back to clicking along on her computer.

"Okay, so the joke wasn't that funny at all, but that doesn't mean you have to push my appointment time for it." Fella's eyes darkened dramatically, and when the lady looked up into them she gave a small outcry of surprise. "I did _not _haul my face over to this building in nine minutes flat just to have my appointment pushed. Because of a Batman joke."

"It's not because of your Batman joke." The receptionist clarified. "Even though it was particularly dry…"

"Watch it."

"But Mr. Stark is busy."

"Busy?" Fella breathed lightly, almost in disbelief. So she really just ran all the way to the building for nothing. She could have taken her time. She could have ridden that stupid roller coaster. She could have even gotten another artery-clogging bowl of nitrogen ice cream and gorged herself on it.

But no.

Mr. Stark was busy.

"By the way, do you always call him Mr. Stark?" Fella's question, even though the awkwardness was already there, suddenly made the receptionist's eyes widen. "For some reason it seems unnatural. The inflection in your voice. Are you just one of his playboy bunnies?"

"You can take a seat and I'll tell you when he isn't occupied." The unsettled glint in the lady's eye gave Fella the exact answer she was looking for.

"And what if I don't feel like taking a seat?" Fella's voice dropped into the levels that make one uncomfortable. And, much to her satisfaction, the receptionist began to squirm under the intense pressure. She gave Fella the 'one moment' signal and picked up the phone. After a few buttons being pressed, she turned away slightly from Fella and held her hand to her free ear.

"Yes. I'm sorry to interrupt you, Mr. Stark. This is Clementine Morgan from the front desk – "

Ah. So that was her name.

Fitting for a playboy bunny.

"-and I have your 2'o'clock here. She's being…" There was a distinct pause when Morgan looked up at Fella awkwardly. Fella cocked her head to one side. "…difficult." A hardly audible mumble came from the phone. "Well, that's what I told her, but she's insistent."

"Insistent?" Fella whispered, leaning her head on the counter. "Honey, do you even know what big words like that mean?"

The blonde stopped, obviously thinking very hard on the meaning of the word, but when she came up short, she dismissed it. "Yes, Mr. Stark." She said bitterly. "That was her. Yes. Well… what? No, she isn't funny." Fella's eyebrows came together. "Mr. Stark, I have to advise you against that. Can't I just send her to your office when you're finished?"

"Absolutely not." Fella said, now that she knew the egotist could actually hear her through the phone. She glanced up at the security camera above the desk and gave it a wave 'hello.'

"Fine." The bitterness in Morgan's voice was so concentrated that Fella looked around the lobby to see if any small animals had been killed. There weren't any small animals, but if there _were, _they definitely would have kicked the bucket. "I'll send her up." And then she slammed the phone down onto the charger.

"Where is he sending me?" Fella's eyes narrowed mischievously, which only perfectly complemented the curly grin that was sneaking its way over her mouth. Maybe she DID want to stay in the lobby for a little while longer, just to relish in the embarrassment of 'Clementine.'

"Up to the 8th floor." She spat bitterly, suddenly shoving a keycard into Fella's hand. "You're going to need that to get in."

"Why?" Fella spun the card casually in one of her hands, starting toward the elevator.

"Because Tony is summoning you up to his in-building penthouse." Morgan went back to clicking on the computer keyboard monotonously, but kept the side of her eyes focused gingerly on the girl in the elevator. She held one accusatory finger up, that devilish little smile worming back onto her face. And right before the elevator doors closed, she said –

"You just called him Tony."

**xXxXx**

The keycard did, indeed, prove very useful. Because after rocketing up 8 floors, the elevator gave an angry buzz and denied her from opening the doors. Fella took a considerable (and rather embarrassing) amount of time trying to open the doors. But they wouldn't budge. It was only in the moment when Fella was trying to pry them open with her hands that a voice greeted her.

"I would suggest, if you're open to it, using the keycard." JARVIS' voice echoed in the nearly empty compartment. Fella froze, glancing down at the thin piece of plastic in her hand. "Of course, you could ignore my suggestion and continue pulling at the doors."

Before Fella used the card, she took a moment to flip around and glare at the voice. But she didn't know in what direction she was supposed to be glaring. So keeping her eyes on the ceiling, Fella fiddled to shove the keycard into the slot.

The doors opened with a 'WHOOSH' and the girl fell back into the penthouse, screaming. The doors closed again and the elevator left her alone with Stark on the 8th floor. She brushed away her hair from her face frantically and scrambled to her feet.

Tony Stark was standing over by his bar (oh, surprise, surprise) and was in the middle of pouring himself a drink when the young woman fell into his eyesight. She cleared her throat, tucked the keycard into her back pocket, and said (very casually)-

"So. I'm here for the interview."

"That's interesting. I was planning on giving you a haircut."

"I could use one." To which Fella flicked a section of her hair to her face to examine the tips. "I haven't had the time."

"If you trust me," Tony walked out from behind the bar, holding the glass of alcohol in one hand. "I can cut it."

"That's going to be a problem. Because I don't trust you." Fella looked around the room. It was spacious and very high-end. Something that she wasn't used to. And, aside from a few empty Sprite bottles and potato chip bags on the ottoman, there really wasn't anything to complain about. Stark himself perfectly fit in with the décor, with his expensive suit and dark shades placed precariously inside his jacket pocket.

"Well that's a relief. Because, really, all I would have to use would be garden shears." Tony scratched the back of his neck and went over to the sofa. Fella raised one eyebrow.

"You have garden shears in your work apartment?"

"You would be surprised."

"I doubt it." Fella's eyes were now locked on the view from the eighth floor. They were only eight floors up, sure, but each floor was double the size a normal one would be. So, technically, they were 16 floors up. The view definitely showed it.

"Are you just going to stand there?" Tony craned his neck to look over the sofa at the flustered girl. "Because I don't feel in the mood to look at you like this the entire time." She didn't do anything except give him a reasonably disgruntled look. "Come on…" Tony kicked the trash off the ottoman and gestured for her to sit.

Walking across such a well-tiled floor almost seemed like it would be considered a crime. Especially with Fella's shoes. And when she looked down and noticed her beat up old converse ( after, of course, noticing "ah, what beautiful tile work!"), she suddenly realized that she hadn't dressed up at all for the interview. As she sat down slowly on the ottoman, Tony took a drink and looked at her appearance.

"You know." He said. "I know I'm famous and everything, but wouldn't you consider yourself a little overdressed?" It seemed to be Fella's gut reaction to narrow her eyes ever so slightly when people used sarcasm around her. And this time around, they went into tiny little slits.

"You're poking at me for being underdressed – "

"Why, yes. Yes I am."

"But you're the one who considers drinking and watching old Tom and Jerry re-runs to be 'busy'." She shot back. Tony appeared completely unharmed, but he grabbed the remote sitting next to him and clicked off the massive flatscreen. He then reared around, took one more glance at her 'Deadpool' tee shirt, and narrowed his eyes to match hers.

She didn't back down.

Neither did he.

Still staring at Tony (and secretly praying his skull caved in), Fella flicked out a small notebook from her back pocket and a pen from behind her ear. It hadn't quite impacted her that she was sitting across from her old friend. Really surreal, more like. But she wasn't willing to sit there and become sentimental. So she convinced herself that they had never met.

Since Tony obviously didn't remember her at all.

For some odd reason, that impacted Fella somewhere deep in her stomach. That every time he looked at her, he was looking at a stranger. She attempted (in vain) to unknot her feelings, but they remained all tangled up. Despite the way she convinced herself otherwise, there was an empty sheen in Tony's eyes that made her feel equally as empty. They weren't the same eyes she used to know.

And while all this was flooding through her mind, she suddenly came back to real life and realized she was looking out at the distant Stark coaster from the Expo. Tony caught her gaze, followed it out the window, and then realized what she was looking at.

"You know what?" He stood up and clapped his hands together with chagrin. Fella jumped and looked at him with a sneer. "I don't feel like sitting down at an interview with someone who isn't dressed properly."

"You're kidding me." Fella grumbled.

"Have you ridden the coaster yet?" Tony smiled knowingly. Fella's stomach dropped from its normal place of residence to her legs. "I'm going to take that as a 'no.'" And Tony suddenly whipped off his suit jacket to reveal the tee shirt underneath. "You and I are going to go ride that thing."

Fella remembered the break in the track.

"You can't be serious!" She exclaimed. Was the man she was supposed to be interviewing really inviting her to ride the fair rides?

"I am! We can push the interview. Right now, all I want is to see if you have it in your soulless little body to smile."

"What the heck did you just say? Did you just say I didn't have a soul?"

"You scared, bro?"

Fella glared out at the roller coaster. Suddenly this felt like a personal blow to her dignity. Fella didn't like personal blows to her dignity.

She stood up, set her pen down on the ottoman, and folded her arms resolutely across her chest.

"Let's go."

_**Interview Status: **Postponed_


	8. Death called a Stark Coaster

**Author's Note: L**_ong chapter, no flashback. The flashbacks are going to kick back up in the next installment, but for now... _

_I'm still on the coaster thing. ;) _

_And it references back to their past anyways. _

_MY GOODNESS, thank you so much for your following. To all those who followed, favorited, and especially reviewed. I get butterflies every time, and it makes me want to dance. Between this story and my Loki one (Black Feathers), I've been astounded by the traction they've gained. Thank you so much! I can't even..._

_Thanks for reading, brush your teeth, and don't forget to not feed the squirrels. :D _

_**TO THE STORY! HYAH! **_

"Why...?" Was the only thing Fella could actually get to slip out her mouth. 'Why.' The only word that she said while walking through the Stark Expo. Behind Tony Stark, mind you, who was less walking and more... traipsing. In the only fashion that Tony Stark could. And if it weren't for the two giants of bodyguards on either side of him, he would have been swarmed with television reporters, journalists, and fangirls. Most of them were keeping their distance, however, with just a single grunt from the guards.

Fella wished she could scare people away with a single grunt. Without even realizing it, she started making grunts to see how she would fare. Once she became aware of this fact, she immediately stopped and fell into silence.

Looking into the rows of people was horrifying. Several had television cameras hoisted up on their shoulders, with the little 'ON AIR' light blinking angrily. Fella wondered if they were being pointed at her, too. The mystery girl with ugly clothes walking behind Tony Stark. And if they WERE, maybe she would be on TV. If she WAS to be on TV, she was praying that Vanessa would watch her and seethe in jealousy.

But, wait. There wasn't even anything to be jealous of. Because Fella most certainly wasn't enjoying herself... Was she? Absolutely not! Though, the ice cream was good. Some of the simulations were amazing. But she wasn't enjoying herself. Once the whole 'Tony Stark' thing was over, the interview was through, then Fella might be able to settle back and have fun. (Especially with the mattress that almost ate her).

But all these thoughts of 'Ah, crap. Am I having fun?' got taken away from Fella when that roller coaster came into view. In fact, the other thoughts weren't just taken away. They were taken away, hauled up a 200 story building, and shoved out one of the windows in a flurry of broken glass...

Fella watched the last train rocket over the place without any track.

... And her previous thoughts hit the concrete with a 'splat'...

... And died.

"Hey," Tony Stark leaned in past the gate to talk to the operator of the death ride. A small section of fangirls waiting in line leaned toward him and tried to touch his hair. He only tipped his head away reflexively. After all, it took him an hour and a half to do his hair that morning. It was a masterpiece.

No way a bunch of lunatic girls with his face on their shirts got to touch it. No touching the art.

"When the rest of the trains come in, load them off and let angry-journalist-with-no-sense-of-dress and I have our own private ride." Tony instructed, taking a glance back at Fella. She was standing star-struck, pigeon toed, and horrified; her eye twitched when screaming resounded through the air. The ride operator nodded to his given instruction, and began programming the trains to stop being weighed.

"Tony! Tony!" Several reporters called out, getting as close as they could with their microphones and cameras (without getting punched in the face by raw muscle). "Tony! Who's that girl with you?" "Tony, is she another assistant of yours?" "Tony, what's her name?" "Where'd she come from?" "What are you two doing right now?" "Tony?"

Stark flipped around, resting back on the gate. He was keeping an enormous amount of calm with so many different voices shouting in his direction, and if Fella had to find something to like about him- she could respect that. His gaze locked with her's and then he went back to the media.

"I," He gestured grandly at himself, "Actually don't know who she is. Yet." And then he winked. He was actually directing that wink at Fella, she realized. She groaned, rolling her eyes back into her head. "But I'll find out. And the very second I do, I'll give all of you a call so you can plaster her name all across the media."

"Really?" A singular voice asked from the crowd.

"No." Tony jumped the fence, waiting for the trains to come back and unload. He turned around and stared at Fella genuinely, hinting for her to unlock her pigeon- toed stance to join him. "Now listen, you..." Tony pointed at her. He still didn't know her name. "I love this ride. So if you want to wait here-"

"You'll let me?" Fella interrupted, keeping her eyes locked on the twisting metal right above her head.

"No, actually. It would just make me feel more rebellious when I forced you into the seat and strapped you in." Tony's broad grin only intensified when Fella's eyes dropped down to look at him. "Get over here."

Fella stepped through a niche in the fence and hoisted herself over nervously. Tony, after she had joined him, leaned over and examined her face carefully. There was a distinct expression of horror painted on it.

"Mmkay," Tony waved his hand in front of her face to get her eyes off the track. "Freddy Kruger isn't going to be riding with us, you can chill out."

"I forgot to put on sunscreen." Fella's attempt to ease the mood was caught on immediately by Tony, who picked it up with-

"Shame on you. I should have left you in the car."

She couldn't decide whether or not she wanted to confide in this man the precious information that she had locked away. A little secret deep within her soul. But she said it anyway. "I'm kinda just a little bit scared..." Fella bit her bottom lip, watching as the final car pulled into the station. She looked at each rider's face carefully, examining the expressions.

"You should be. No sunscreen. Psh. Imagine the burns you're going to get..." Tony scoffed and shook his head.

"Oh, shut up!" And Fella shoved him lightly. She didn't even realize what she'd done until Stark looked at her with inquisitive eyes. She'd just shoved him. But she didn't really think about it, it felt so natural. And she was concerned that he was going to react sourly, but a strong smile worked over his mouth. Relief washed over Fella's entire nervous system.

"Fine. But don't come whining to me when you need help putting aloe vera on your shoulders."

"Well, did YOU put on sunscreen?" Fella saw the opportunity to turn it back around on Tony. His head reared around to face her, his eyes glimmering with the truth but his mouth not willing to say it.

"We're not talking about me, we're talking about you." he turned his head away quickly, avoiding the topic of his sunscreen hypocrisy.

Fella flicked the notepad from her back pocket and the pen from behind her ear. Her fast-paced scribbling caught Tony's attention, and he was less-than-elegant in asking (sneering)-

"What are you doing?"

"I'm writing that down." Fella said sarcastically. "Because that must have been the first time in your life that you agreed to talk about someone besides yourself." Tony was in complete shock; whether it was because Fella had said it so intelligently (or so truthfully) he didn't know. But the only way he could think to phrase the thought going through his head was as-

"Dear heavens above." He paused and looked at her, the expression of horror having switched faces. "You ARE a journalist."

The steady hum of reporter's questions and fangirl's squee-ing had been there in the background the entire time. Neither of the two had any time to listen to it, though, because they were too busy having an epic glare-down. (And the massive raw-muscle bodyguards could handle it themselves. They had the grunting powers to do it).

However, what DID snap Fella from the glaring was when the ride operator said, "Alright, Mr. Stark. I've cleared the trains, and the ride's ready for you." She snapped away from the glare-down and looked panickedly at the empty row of seats that would carry her into the afterlife.

Tony sensed her fear.

"I hope you're ready to die." He strutted over to the seats confidently, but Fella was glued to the metal grates.

"I can't die, Stark." Fella shook away a good chunk of her visible fear and went over to stand next to him. "Not yet. If I died now, I'm pretty sure I'd be going to hell."

"You haven't killed anyone, have you?" Tony sat down in the upright seat, pulling down the specialized safety restraints. The hydraulics clicked when the restraints were in their proper position, right next to his chest. This left Fella the joy of being in the end seat, where she pulled her own restraints down. The click resounded in the hydraulics chamber behind her head. There was a moment of panic, of sheer panic, when Fella remembered that they would be riding on their stomachs.

And she tried desperately to get the restraints to click again.

"Hey..." Tony tapped her arm. She was holding onto the shoulder pads with an iron-clad grip. For a moment, she thought that Tony might try reassuring her. And she didn't know how she would take it. But that's okay, because he didn't reassure her at all. "Seriously, you haven't killed anyone, right?"

At that, the sound of the word 'kill', both bodyguards simultaneously reared their heads to look at Fella with homicidal glares. One of their hands reached for a tazer concealed on their belt.

Fella's eye twitched when she caught their gaze.

"Whoa, boys, down!" Tony leaned forward (as far as he could with the ride constricting him), and flailed his arms at his guards. "Down, boys!" They relaxed and went back to watching the media crowd carefully. Tony's mouth tensed and he watched them suspiciously. "You know, sometimes I think they LIKE killing my guests..."

"Alright, you two all strapped in?" The ride operator walked on over, then gave a generous tug to each of their restraints. "Okay, stay still while the scale weighs the train."

Tony leaned over and whispered, "That way we don't die." He paused. "I hope you know that my tech is going to technically save your life." Tony leaned back and looked at the track in front of them. "Maybe you should keep that in mind. So you don't hate me as much." Fella didn't respond to him, she didn't want to, but what he said impacted her immensely. The train suddenly dropped a foot or two, and the scale clicked along, weighing the two passengers. Quite a crowd had gathered on the outsides of the fence to see the two of them take off.

"I don't want to do this." Fella said suddenly.

"I don't care."

"No really. I don't want to."

"No, really, I don't care." A thundering rock song started spewing through the speakers on the train. Tony drummed his fingers on the seat and started humming to himself. "Here we go..." And with that, the row of seats tipped forward ever so slowly until they were both completely vertical, facing the ground. "Hey, hey look!" Tony tapped Fella gently, who was trying to keep her hair out of her face (and failing). "I'm roadkill, look!" Tony relaxed his arms and legs so they drooped toward the ground and his head flopped down.

This earned a sharp smack from Fella.

"Okay! Enjoy the ride and don't shift around when you go off the track." The ride operator shoved a key into a lock, making Fella close her eyes, and he pressed the green button that initiated the ride. They started forward smoothly, going up the first initial hill. Fella looked down at the ground below them, and then craned her neck to look at the track above.

"We're going up 400 feet." Tony nudged her gently, but he was still swinging his legs happily beneath him. Fella squeaked. He pointed over at a part of the track they would be riding, and Fella squinted in the direction he was pointing. "When I built this thing, it was actually illegal for me to put that many corkscrews back-to-back. Apparently the human body can only take so many G-Forces or whatever. So I changed the law."

"Sweet mercy." Fella muttered. They hadn't even reached halfway up the lift hill.

"What, you nervous about the corkscrews?" Tony chuckled.

"No. No, I'm nervous about free-flying."

"Oh, please!" Tony scoffed. "It's only like two seconds and you're back on track."

"Two seconds of pure, undiluted, concentrated hell." Fella's graphic reference made Tony's eyebrow raise into his forehead. And he actually started feeling nervous about the whole thing. This chick was dragging him into the depths of pessimism. So he decided he was going to make it his life mission to hoist her up into optimism. After all, what did she have to be so moody about?

"So it's only two seconds, right?" Fella's jaw was clenched. She was trying very hard not to look at the ground and imagine herself falling to meet it.

"Well, I'm not totally sure. I built it to be two seconds. I wonder how it feels, though." Tony stared off dreamily. But now Fella's eyes were target-locked on him.

"What do you mean?" She breathed. "You mean you haven't ridden this before?"

"Nope. I kinda hate roller coasters. They scare the crap out of me. I like flying in my IronMan suit, but that's because I'm in control." Tony didn't look scared like he said he was. And now Fella was starting to feel very homicidal to the man who had tricked her into getting on the coaster.

"I thought you said you loved it." She sneered. Sneering was the only thing she could do to avoid stabbing him. She had a pen, after all, and if she angled it right, she could probably hit his artery.

"Hello?" Tony cocked his head forward and stared at her. "Tony Stark here? I don't think we've met." He thrust his hand out in offer to shake hers. "I'm a lying little brat." Fella only smacked his hand away and locked her eyes on the top of the lift hill.

Tony was back to doing his whole 'roadkill' act.

They arched into a more level place, and Tony snapped back to life, gripping to the restraints. The train slowly crested under the initial hill, and the two were left looking down the first drop for a solid three seconds.

"We're going to be going down that in a sec." Fella said, pressing her head against the back and avoiding gravity. It was a massive drop. Massive didn't even begin to explain it. 400 feet. Artists could paint that and use it as an example of distance.

Fella was totally, for a moment at least, convinced that she was going to get a nosebleed.

"Wait…" Tony flailed around in his seat for a moment, (which made Fella panic like 'OMG NO STOP FLAILING') and he was staring down the steep drop. "I think we're stalling…"

There was a lengthy pause, filled only by the rock music and Tony's newfound fear. Before Fella exclaimed, "Sweet!"

"ARE YOU HIGH?" Tony screamed, looking at her with wild eyes. "THIS IS NOT A GOOD MOMENT."

"Oh, Tony..." Fella clucked her tongue, still trying to laugh away her fear. "I'm very high. So are you. 400 feet, actually." And suddenly it was her new goal to freak him out. "So nomatter what we do, you're strapped into this metal contraption."

"Shut up."

Fella leaned forward and looked straight into those eyes, straight back into a doorway to her past. When she was on a similar roller coaster, and Tony was acting in a similar fashion. Then, quietly, as the ride creaked above them, she said-

"You scared, bro?"

Before they even had time to take another breath, the stall ended and they were coasting down the 80 degree drop at 75 miles per hour. The teasing had been forgotten completely. Now the billionaire and the simple journalist were on the exact same level: screaming for their lives and holding to the restraints like they were rocketing straight for their execution. They banked around a massive turn and hit the 9 corkscrews. Up was down, down was up, then the cycle was repeated another 8 times, and if it weren't for the seatholders, they would have long fallen to their deaths.

And Tony found out he was right, after all.

That was a heck of a lot of G Forces.

Fella could hear him grunting through his teeth as the forces hit them with a massive amount of strength. She tried to laugh, but before the air could escape her lungs, they were into a complete loop. Then another. And Fella, after watching the ride so much, knew exactly what was coming next. Her inner organs twisted into knots.

"Hey!" Tony screamed at her through the air.

"Fella!" She cried back. Tony's eyes widened, and he tried to flick a piece of hair from his face.

"What?" He asked in disbelief, hardly getting his voice to carry over the coaster.

"Fella, okay? My name is Fella!"

He looked her over for a long second: her eyes closed, her hair whipping wildly behind her, her teeth clenched in fear. And, my, how she looked familiar, the girl- Fella.

Tony reached one hand out to her. She looked at it nervously, and then up at the next section of track. Then, without even thinking much about it, she reached her own hand up and gripped his. Her fingers slid between Tony's perfectly, like the workings of a clock. She didn't have time to think about the sentiment, because they were into the next loop. The track rumbled on above them, and then (when the G Forces were at their peak) they suddenly went-

Weightless.

Nothing they were attached to. Air. No track.

The rumbling was gone, and they were gliding through the air, arching. Arching. Ever so arching, the train reaching down and trying to find its hold again.

"Whoa..." Fella and Tony breathed in unison, and Fella's hold of his hand went from 'grip' to 'iron-clad'.

The pure, undiluted, concentrated Hell was Hell indeed.

Then it was over, and with a clank they touched down on track and were back gliding into elegant banks and turns. Tony and Fella looked at each other, huge grins plastered on each of their faces, and then they settled into bouts of laughter. The train pulled back into the station. There was a smattering of applause as the fangirls watched their precious cargo Stark come into safety.

The hydraulics welcoming them back sounded like beautiful music to Fella's ears (which had just enjoyed the pleasure of popping back on the ground). She let go of Tony's hand, heaved a massive sigh of relief, and slammed her head back as the trains tipped into a sitting position.

"Well, then, Fella." Tony said her name with careful daintiness in mockery. His masterpiece of a hairstyle had been ruined. But that was okay, because it still looked like art in comparison to Fella's mess of reddish gold locks. "How was your death?"

"Rather awesome, actually." Fella turned to face him, her voice quavering from the recent flight. "And yours?"

"I think I..." Tony turned around and tried to look behind him. "I think I dropped my spleen somewhere back there."

"Frick." The restraints went up, and Fella immediately put her head on her knees. "My gallbladder has officially imploded."

"That's not healthy, I don't think."

Then they made eye contact for a very long moment. Something different stirred behind each set of eyes. Before the fangirls could stir up too much, Tony and Fella both asked-

"Do you want to die again?"

And they both exclaimed-

"Yes!"

Tony flashed a dazzling grin, but Fella was too busy laughing to see it. He turned around and gave the 'another round' signal to the operator, who smiled and turned the key again.

**xXxXx**

"Dear Lord, save me…" Tony walked stiffly back into his penthouse, setting his keys down on the table gently. He held his arms out in the air, trying not to touch anything. "Sssss…" He walked very carefully into the grand kitchen.

"Sir," JARVIS' voice called through the penthouse. "You were gone for longer than you said you'd be." And that was when Tony (carefully) turned his head to see that the world had long gone dark.

"Yeah. The journalist girl- Fella. We wanted to see how the coaster felt at night…" Tony hissed again when he accidentally bumped his arm into the chair. His bright red flesh burned angrily up at him. "Hey, hey, JARVIS? Where's the aloe vera?"


	9. Where's Waldo?

Author's Note: This chapter is a little short, but I really wanted to extend this scene to two chapters. xD Expect the other one soon, yeah? Thank you all so much for everything. I can't even tell you how much it means to me.

So enjoy, and tell me what you think! One review is one donation to the Torn Up Blanket Society of the World. Helping blankets be repaired, one review at a time.

* * *

**NORMAL POV**

* * *

**FLASHBACK - Summer - Shopping for School Clothes**

* * *

"Mo-om!" Fella was pro at whining, like many 12-year-olds in her peer circle. She rested her chin on the dashboard of the blue beetle Volkswagon for emphasis in her quest of moodiness. She was upset – and she wanted her mother to know it. "Tony wasn't even busy today. Why are you so adamant on not picking him up? Why can't you just bring him with us?"

"Felicia, you do everything with Anthony." Her mother started, making the pre-teen girl cringe at the use of her real name. "Most girls would be excited to spend time shopping. Without-" and she eyed her daughter carefully in the passenger seat, "a boy hanging around."

"Tony isn't a boy," Fella's seatbelt was driving her crazy. It didn't want to settle in one place, and instead felt the need to slide around on Fella's neck to make it raw. She sat back casually, trying to avoid this discomfort. And then she realized what she'd just said, noticing the expression on her parent's face, and she quickly added, "I mean, he's not like MOST boys. Him and I are so close, he might as well be a girl." The long pause was filled with the hum of the vehicle clunking over a speedbump.

Fella's stomach lurched with the jolt as she instinctively reached out to grab the handle on the roof. Mom was never a good driver, and when she was set on driving some place, no stupid speedbump was going to slow her down. Fella was grateful, at least, when Mom obeyed the law enough to stop at the red light. (More like a goldish light to Fella, but she got the point).

"You don't have a crush on Anthony, do you, Fells?" Her mom leaned back, looking at her daughter start to blush as pink as the color of the light. She fidgeted with her fingers a little before (not looking up) responding –

"No, Mom. Ew. That's gross." The volume of her voice completely negated her words. Then the volume was turned off completely to allow Fella to go back at picking at her nails. "Tony's just a friend." And then, in an attempt to steer off the course of her sixth grade infatuations, she added, "A friend that I WANTED to go shopping with us."

"Now," obviously Mother was sick of the whining about Tony, as she drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. Still waiting for the light. "You are NOT going to convince me to by you something that'll cost me an arm and a leg."

"Tony's dad buys him expensive stuff." Fella grumbled, pressing her forehead into the glass. They'd always been poor. She was staring very intently at a palm tree, swaying gently in the breeze off to the side of the road. She was focusing on it, wondering if she could direct her anger enough for it to blow up.

"Sometimes the worth of things - "

"Gets lost in the pricetag. I know, I know." Fella finished, swinging her head around overdramatically when the palm tree didn't erupt in flames. "You say that all the time. Why are you so focused on shoving these cheesy life lessons down my throat?"

Fella's mother clicked on the blinker, still waiting for the light to turn. "Maybe one day you'll take some of what I say to heart, Felicia."

"Do you have something I can drink after ingesting all this cheese?" Fella mumbled again, back to starting at the palm tree. The light clicked back, and the car lurched to the right. Fella's head snapped up, and she was glaring at the road they were going on. "Where are we going, Mom? The store's back that way."

"To pick up Tony," she had a glimmer in her eye. Mom always did. She was always so alive, and that was something Fella looked up to (even if she wasn't too keen to admitting it.) "Your cute little not-a-boy future husband."

"MOM!"

* * *

**PRESENT**

* * *

"Sir," JARVIS was practically an expert on saying 'sir,' and it was really the only thing Tony heard on a day-to-day basis. Sometimes he kinda wished he hadn't made JARVIS to be his own personal electronic butler. Maybe he should have styled him a little more on modern-day language. That way he would say 'yo' everytime he wanted to talk to Tony. "If you'll humor me… what is it exactly that you're looking for?"

Tony stopped digging through the couch cushions long enough to direct a long stare at the ceiling of his penthouse. His arms were still a little achy from being burned so severely the week previous. Now he was searching avidly for the keys to his favorite car: Stark1. He knew he set them down somewhere… he just didn't know where. He went back to digging in the couch.

"Ah!" Tony exclaimed, swinging up and holding the IronMan keychain to the heavens. "I've been looking for this…"

"If you're not going to answer me what you're _actually_ looking for…" which Tony wasn't going to answer. JARVIS could eat himself with anxiety (how would that even work?). "You might as well tell me why you've pushed the Journalism interview so far back. With that woman Fella. Isn't that what you called her?"

"JARVIS, for once, just push yourself out of the problem." Tony shifted from the couch to the coffee table, rummaging through the empty potato chip bags. "You know what? Push yourself out a window, actually. I don't know how you would, but I want you to." So JARVIS went into silence and let Tony go into a panicked frenzy over finding his keys.

Tony actually became desperate enough that he had started dumping out the remnants of the potato bags, hoping to hear the wonderful clink of the keys. He was a freaking billionaire. He was Iron Man. He had the best technology in the world. He could figure out how to make something to brush his TEETH for him.

But he couldn't find a stupid set of _keys?_

Then he stood up, rushed over to the penthouse window, and stroked his facial hair as he gazed outside thoughtfully.

Gazing outside thoughtfully was usually what he did well. And it usually helped him figure things out – usually. Except there was a palm tree that was obstructing his view of the Stark Expo. How was he supposed to mull thoughtfully if his mulling was obstructed? So he stooped over, glaring intensely at that palm tree in the hopes that it would spontaneously combust. When even that didn't work, he rushed his hands through his hair angrily, walked over to the torn-up couch…

…and slammed into the skewered cushions face-first.

"JARVISSSS…." Tony whined, his voice being muffled by the padding. But the padding didn't muffle the annoyed two-year-old-style flailing that Tony's arms went through. "Help meeeeeee…."

"I'm sorry, I can't process that request," JARVIS retorted back. "I'm still trying to find a way to shove myself out a window."

"Where are…" Tony raised out of the couch, feeling relatively irritated, trying to bring his dignity with him (and failing, his dignity stayed imbedded in the cushions) "…the keys to Stark1?"

"You really want me to tell you?"

"I sure as heck don't want to continue this stupid 'where's Waldo' act." Tony sneered, "Especially since I think Waldo is _moving_. Waldo isn't supposed to move."

"The key isn't moving, sir." JARVIS sounded just as exasperated, like he was actually willing to kill someone. Sometimes working with the snotty little playboy could get aggravating on the nerves of artificial intelligence. "It's sitting on the island in the kitchenet. Next to the bottle of aloe vera gel."

"I knew that." Trying to shift the cushions back only seemed futile, so Tony only took one of the throw pillows and set it gingerly on the mess of a couch. It looked very dainty sitting there, among the potato crumbs. It was enough for Stark to be satisfied, so he strutted dramatically to the kitchen — where he scooped up the keys. "I feel morally inclined—"

"How are you taking that new emotion?"

"Watch it." Tony straightened his hair. "I feel morally inclined to take Fella-what's-her-face shopping for decent interview clothes." Then he mumbled off with, "What kind of name is 'Fella' anyway? Who nicknamed her that?"

Why, you did, Tony…

(But he couldn't hear the narrator, so it didn't matter.)

"You're saying you only pushed the interview because the girl wasn't properly dressed…?"

"Well," Tony paused, blinking considerably, "Yes."

"No ulterior motives?"

"No…"

"So why couldn't you have taken one of the other vehicles?"

"Stark1 is the prettiest." Tony said quietly, suddenly getting the feeling that he was being interrogated by his artificial slave (at least, that's what he considered JARVIS in that particular moment). "I want the girl to be impressed. She's going to be publishing an article about me, and I don't want her trashing on my style."

"Ah. So that's the only reason you want to impress her?" JARVIS would have been smirking if he had a face. Maybe even poking Tony in the stomach gingerly. "And you're going to go pick her up? Would you like me to get the directions to the hotel she's staying at for you? I could get into the database…"

"I already know what hotel she's at." Tony waved one hand to figuratively brush JARVIS off. Before J could call him out on being a creepy stalker, he quickly added, "Because her writing journalism whatever company had me pay her fee, that's why." If Fella and the cab driver heard him admit that, they would have fist-bumped. "Now if you'll excuse me," and he strutted confidently to the door, "I have to go pick up a hater to go clothes shopping." Then he flipped around, glared at the ceiling (since he didn't know exactly where JARVIS was positioned) and said, "And there's nothin' you girls can do about it."

* * *

**xXxXx**

* * *

When there was a knock at Fella's hotel door, she couldn't decide whether she was very upset or completely overjoyed. Visitors were awesome – super awesome. But Fella had just barely gotten out the container of mint ice cream from the freezer to let it thaw. So as she crossed the room to see who was at the door, she was feeling relatively bitter.

"If this is Vanessa," she muttered to herself, "so help me, I will strangle her where she stands." With a few slides of the pins, a few twists of the knobs, and a yank, the door flew open to reveal Tony Stark – very not Vanessa. "Oh, no. This is worse."

"I'm here!" Tony threw his arms up into the air. He looked very happy in that light. "I know you were waiting for me."

"How the heck did you find out where I was staying?" Fella was more accusatory than anything, and placing one hand on her hip was exactly what she needed to send the message across. But Tony only waved one hand in the hair nonchalantly.

"It doesn't matter." He said simply. "I'm here to pick you up."

"What?" Fella took a moment to ask the question. Tony freaking Stark was at her hotel room, asking to take her somewhere, and (unlike most girls) she was completely against it. Hopefully he wasn't planning anything romantic, that would be gross. "I'm not really in a state to go anywhere." And she gave a generous glance down her clothing.

"That's the reason!" Tony slapped his hands together with chagrin, and it made Fella want to punch something in the face. "Come on now, stop throwing crap on the parade."

"I don't count this as a parade," Fella rested her other hand (the one that wasn't occupying her hip) on the door handle. She was prepared to close that thing at any time. Leave Tony to die in the hallway and have his dead body rummaged over by his loyal fangirls.

"Well, I'm sorry if I didn't bring any taffy to chuck at your face," Tony copied her stance, and she immediately put both her hands to her side. But she didn't say anything more – rather she gave him a considerable glare. "If you aren't coming willingly, I will drag your carcass down to the car."

Pashaw.

Tony Stark, a man with a breathtaking reputation, wouldn't force her down to his car.

That was practically kidnapping.

"I'm giving you ten seconds to redeem yourself." Tony said, one eyebrow raised. "Before I take more forceful measures."

Fella didn't move. She even mulled over the mint ice cream a little bit.

"One…"

No change.

"Two…"

Nothing.

"Three…"

* * *

**Moments Later…**

* * *

"OH MY GOSH, STARK!" Fella wailed as he threw her down into the front seat of the convertible, shut (and locked) the door. She screamed in a mess of gold and reddish hair, scrambling to unlock the latch and let herself out.

But Tony ran over to the driver's side as fast as was humanly possible, and he gunned the engine before she could make her escape. This made her huff a little, slamming her face into her hands.

"I hate you," She mumbled, trying to contain her anger so she didn't impale him from all the way across the dashboard.

"I know you do," Tony said cheerfully as he took a right, "But save it for your article, hater. Right now we're going shoppin'!"


	10. The Worth of Things

**Flashback - Le Actual Shopping For Clothes**

* * *

"Ooh, take this one. And this one. And I think this one would look good on you, don't you think?"

"Tony, really, I think-"

"Look at that color against your skin… yellow seems like it's your color, no? Do you think it'd go with any of the jeans you have? Do you have any of those new bellbottoms? I feel like they're going out of style soon… but if they're still selling them, we should get you some."

"I hate yellow."

"Fair enough, snappy. What about purple?"

"Tony, seriously…"

"Oh, right, the colorblind thing. How long are you supposed to have that for, anyway?"

"Life."

Silence.

And then, Tony's voice.

"Oh." A pause. "Does that mean you don't even know what color your own hair is?"

A shrug from Fella. "People tell me it's orange. All I see is yellow."

More silence.

"You don't know what orange hair even looks like, do you Fells?"

"No."

"Well take it from me." Another small pause. "It's beautiful, Fella."

"If you say so."

"Well, I do."

* * *

_Present_

* * *

"You must participate!" Tony had been… bouncing. While Fella stood her ground in the middle of the small, expensive clothing store (fearing that if she accidentally brushed her shoulder against something, soul-sucking cashiers would herd her out of the store), she tried to keep an eye on her kidnapper. Which was a difficult thing to do. Because he really was. He was bouncing.

His well-styled hair would disappear among the fabric, only for him to spring back up with some ridiculous expression plastered on his face. Whether he was sticking out his tongue, flaring his nostrils, puffing out his cheeks – his smile was getting brighter and Fella's sneer was getting darker. The second Tony started making sound effects with his faces, Fella realized the whole trip had just gone to the loony bin.

She also realized that instead of making spastic, uncoordinated leaps, Tony was bouncing in a beeline straight for her.

Her initial instinct was to run, but she was surrounded by clothing, and images of soul-sucking cashiers spilled back to mind.

Tony made one more ballerina-worthy leap and landed effortlessly inches away from Fella's face.

"Why aren't you participating?" He mumbled, narrowing his eyes.

"Because I was brought here involuntarily." Fella narrowed her eyes, too. Two could play at this game.

"You walked through the door by yourself."

"So?"

"I count that as voluntary."

There was a miniature stare down between them. Accented by Western music and dramatic camera angles, it would have been perfect for TV. And then, Fella could feel the walls she was building crumble as she muttered –

"Fine."

"Whoo!" Tony's hands rocketed into the air in a double-fistpump. "Tony wins over the snotty reporter again!"

_Reporter?_ Fella thought. It was halfway through Tony's happy-dance that she realized. _Oh, yes. I'm here for the story. The flame story_. Her stomach, for some abstract reason, sunk a little when she remembered that was the whole reason she was there. She was standing feet away from the sunglassed figure of Anthony Stark. And up to that moment, no one had even realized it was he.

"Come on, then." Tony snapped her out of her pity-party by grabbing onto her wrist and pulling her through the store. She gave a cry of protest, but he didn't care. And then, when he finally let her go, he took the bouncing position and said, "Watch, young grasshopper. I will teach you."

Anthony Stark then proceeded to bounce again. He even made verbal notes. "Notice how I leap to each clothes rack-" demonstrated by him disappearing behind a line of silk. His brown eyes poked above the hangers in thin slits. "Now you examine the store for your prey."

Fella watched in silent horror as Tony paused for a long time, then leapt out screaming from behind the satin. His war cry disrupted the air, and Fella screamed too.

Tony had "pounced" on a graphic-print tee with some old rock band printed on the front. He yanked it off the hanger, flipped around dramatically to Fella, and said, "Now you try this on. I used my hunter technique to find it. You'll love it, I'm sure." Before he could repeat the stunt, Fella swiped the article of clothing from his hands and trundled toward the dressing rooms.

Tony was walking behind her.

Well.

Bouncing behind her.

"That's okay, Felicia." She mumbled to herself, slamming the dressing room door on Tony's grinning face. "The faster you get this over, the faster you can get back to the hotel. And then you can eat your ice cream and watch the Doctor Who re-runs." She flipped off her hoodie and wriggled into the shirt that had been handed to her.

"Oh, yeah, Doctor Who." Tony's muffled voice responded. Fella didn't know whether she wanted to yell at him for listening in on her rage-fest, or go fangirl-mode and ask him what he knew about Doctor Who. So she stayed quiet, brushing out the wrinkles in the shirt for Tony to make the next move. "I liked Tennant better, did you? But Smith has grown on me." He turned his voice into falsetto tones, smacked his face against the dressing room door, and said, "But Rory's my FAVORITE."

"Oh, shut up!" Fella laughed, throwing one hand on the door to shake him off.

"Oh, Miss Fella? Was that a laugh I heard from you? You mustn't laugh around the evil Tony Stark, remember? I brought you here against your will, you aren't allowed to have fun."

The muffled voice of Stark had just turned into her conscience. And since he was the one saying it, and she automatically disagreed with everything he said, she decided she was going to have fun to spite him.

But wait, that wouldn't be spiting him, would it?

But it would be? So should she have fun or stay bitter?

She wasn't a bitter person, but Tony brought out the bitter in her. She hated him. She was supposed to hate him. She had reason to hate him. Legitimate reason. She was writing a flame article on him, and she was supposed to hate him. She wanted to. So why was it that whenever she was talking to him, all she saw was little Tones, and all she wanted to do was laugh with him?

He betrayed her. She had reason to be hateful.

She looked at her reflection. A mess of blonde hair covering her pale face, thrown back in a rush. And that expensive tee shirt hugging onto her body. It was only then she took notice of the band on the front.

"I loved Def Leppard!" She suddenly exclaimed to no one in particular. Tony caught her words and played on them.

"I used to listen to them all the time growing up." Tony's voice was a little more distant. He must have been looking for more clothes.

"I did, too." Fella smiled at the old memories of her and Tones rocking out to the band, taking turns pretending that they were the lead of the song, using couches as stages and the air as their guitars. She remembered spending hours on end arguing with Tony on what color their "guitars" used to be. They always both wanted to have a chrome one. And then, finally, when Tony would give in to having a black guitar to let Fella's be chrome, they would turn the music as loud as his father would let him. From that point on, Tony and Fella picked up their air guitars, took their places on the couch, and became the most famous rockers in the world.

Tony probably didn't remember it the way Fella did. He didn't seem to remember Fella at all.

"I always pretended I had a chrome guitar." Tony said. Instinctively, Fella corrected him.

"Yours was always black, Tony."

There was a long pause. And then Tony's deep chuckle. "You're right, I guess it was."

Fella let herself laugh. An actual laugh. The second it slipped from her lungs, she wanted to take it back. She wanted to reach out in the air to gather that laugh back up and swallow it. She didn't want to let herself be happy. She covered her mouth with her hands and took a shaky breath.

"So do you like that one?" Tony's voice was back to being right by the door. "I have some more for you to try. Seriously. You need a better wardrobe. And the shoes go next. I mean, I've never considered myself very stylish." A pause. "Actually, I have. But that's not the point. I suppose it is the point, actually."

And then he threw the other articles of clothing over the door. Fella didn't like how expensive they felt. So she threw them back.

"I don't want them." She said.

"Wha?! Why not?! These are perfectly fine!"

"They're too expensive."

"So?!"

"The worth of things can get lost in the price tag." Fella said, sitting down on the bench in the dressing room (which, by the way, also seemed expensive)(there was a chandelier)(a freaking chandelier). "My mother says that all the… well… she used to say that all the time."

Fella didn't know, but Tony was listening intently outside the dressing room. He was decoding her voice. So many layers. Covering up… what? He leaned in ever so slightly toward the door separating him and a whole different person with a whole different set of ideas.

Just before his ear rested against the door, it flew open. Tony tumbled back in surprise and screamed.

"Very manly scream you have there." Fella sneered down at him, sprawled on the floor. "Seems as if the bouncing wonder just got crippled."

"Hey, now."

"Come on." Fella was still wearing the Def Leppard tee. She yanked Tony to his feet, grabbed the keys that had fallen out of his pocket, and pulled him for the door. She put a 20 on the counter to pay for the shirt.

"Where are we going?!" Tony exclaimed as Fella slipped into the driver's seat. "Get out of my car! Stop it! I didn't say you could drive!"

"Get in, Stark!"

"NO!"

"Fine." Fella shrugged and revved up the engine. Expensive cars felt nice. "I'll go without you." And it was only when she started down the street that Tony realized she was serious. She watched him – Tony Stark, billionaire – sprinting after her and the car for a few moments before deciding she would be a good person.

She pulled over and let him in. He slammed down into the passenger seat with such hostility that Fella was surprised nothing died. "I can't believe you're doing this. I could have you sued."

"You kidnapped me." Fella justified as she checked for oncoming traffic.

"I hate you, stranger Fella."

"I know you do, Tones."

"Where are we going?"

"I'm going to show you how to spend a day without spending money."

* * *

xXxXx

* * *

Tony could feel it. The one bead of sweat forming at his temple under his mask. He could hear every one of his tired breaths from running. This would decide everything. He pressed himself up against the barrier, too fearful to turn and check his surroundings. She was probably there, hiding behind the ball cage and waiting for him. Her gun aimed through the toys, waiting. Waiting.

Tony swallowed. The steady hum in the surroundings would cause enough cover for him to run. Perhaps to the men's clothing section. Would he be able to make it? How stupid he had been to get trapped in this corner. But there was no time to mourn over lost chances. If he timed things right, and if he was sneaky enough, he might be able to make it to the fabrics. The fleece would be enough to keep his cover. Then, perhaps, he could steal the advantage again.

_No time to waste._ He thought. _She's waiting for me to make my move. _

He backed up a little more to hide and calculate. But what was this?! Dora the Explorer's electronic voice serenaded him in deathly tones from right behind his head.

"Are you ready to count to ten?" She sang. Tony's heart lurched into his throat. Passerby looked at him oddly as he scrambled to turn off the doll silently.

But it was too late.

The laser-sensitive panel on his wrist screamed up at him and Fella waltzed down the isle, laughing behind her child's laser tag mask.

"That so wasn't fair!" Tony exclaimed, taking the mask off his face and reaching down to turn off the toy on his wrist.

"You could have ran for the fabric section and I wouldn't have been able to get you." Fella motioned toward the general direction that Tony should have ran and then hoisted her tiny laser gun on her shoulder.

"I know!" Tony stamped one foot impatiently. "I thought you were hiding behind the ball bin!"

"I was for a while, but then you didn't do anything."

"I was plotting."

Fella snorted. "You were delaying your slaughter."

The banter could have gone on all day, but a Wal-Mart employee (all dressed in the classic Wal-Mart blue) walked up to the pair. Tony flipped the mask back down on his face to conceal his identity.

"You two know that you can't play with those unless you buy them?" He was a pathetic excuse for a manager, with a thick belly and tiny wisps of what should have been brown hair. He waited for a response that Fella obviously wasn't going to give.

There was an awkward silence, and the people who passed the toy isles couldn't help but look at the two adults dressed in laser gear that was far too small for them. One mother, upon seeing the pair, quickly rushed her children to her other side and took an abrupt turn to get away.

Another person was using their phone to take a picture.

Tony suddenly reached for his pocket, pulled out a sum of money that Fella couldn't see, and handed it to the manager. He counted it for a moment, his eyes went wide, and then he stuttered in saying:

"Carry on, then…" as he walked away.

Fella raised an eyebrow.

"Best four out of seven?" Tony said, clicking the 'on' button on his gun.

"You're on, punk."

* * *

xXxXx

* * *

The art isle had been turned into a station of creation. Cardstock papers were littered everywhere on the tiles, and markers had been pulled down from their shelves to be sprinkled across the floor. Tony was focusing intently on his letter stickers, making sure to peel each one off with care and stick it to the yellow paper he had selected. It was only when he took a red marker and started drawing in flames that Fella took note of what he was doing.

"You couldn't think of a better team name than JARVIS?" She asked as Tony finished his first fireball. When he realized she was paying attention to him, he turned away so she couldn't see his artwork.

"Yes." He mumbled. "Why? What's YOUR team name?" It must have looked ridiculous: two fully-grown adults sitting on the floor with art crafts and supplies all around them. And they were taking their art so seriously, too.

"Team Stephano."

Tony turned back around to give Fella and her piece of paper a raised eyebrow.

She covered her art with her hand. "Don't judge me."

* * *

_Moments Later_

* * *

"On your marks." Tony started. Fella reached down to the side of her shopping cart and made sure the paper that displayed her team name was in place with the clear tape. Tony's own "TEAM JARVIS" glared at her from the side of HIS empty shopping cart.

"Get set." Fella continued. A man with a basket tried to enter the other end of the isle, then saw what was about to take place, turned around, and waddled away as quickly as he could.

"GO!"

And they were off, each one running neck-and-neck down the isle, pushing their empty baskets ahead of them.

"COME ON, STEPHANO, YOU'VE GOT THIS!" Fella encouraged her shopping cart.

"DON'T LISTEN TO HER, JARVIS, SHE HAS ORANGE HAIR."

"WHAT?!"

They crossed the finish line at the same time (as far as they could see) and spent the next ten minutes arguing on who won. Then they bought some of the cheapest ice cream, ate it in Tony's car (feeling particularly rebellious), and went home exhausted, laughing, and with all judgment between them (if only for that moment) completely lost in the sound of their happiness.

* * *

xXxXx

* * *

"Really, sir." JARVIS' voice was always what greeted Tony when he got home. And nowadays, it seemed like JARVIS was getting more judgmental. Tony grumbled something dark to himself, thunked his head on the wall, and waited for JARVIS to continue. "I must ask why you've been coming home so late now."

"Well, dear, if you must know…" Tony crossed the massive floor and headed straight for the couch, "I was racing you down an isle at Wal-Mart."

"What, sir?"

"Nothing." Tony tipped his shades down on his face and closed his eyes. "Inside joke."

* * *

_A/N: I must thank you all. ^_^ I never would have guessed to have such a wonderful following on this story. I apologize for the long wait for the update. I really do. Hopefully you can find it in your wonderful hearts to forgive me. I really loved this chapter, and I hoped you liked it too. Thank you so much, every one of you. Every review and follow and favorite makes my heart just a little happier, and I get all excited when I see someone's read it. _

_Cyber cookies for reviews! And lots of love!_

_-Phan_


	11. Strawberry Hair

_Flashback - Back-To-School Meeting (of hell)_

* * *

"Blah blah blah blah something about disclosures, blah blah blah blah... Blah blah... Blah... rules, rules, curriculum, (whatever the heck that word meant), blah blah..." That was all Felicia heard. Nothing else. She hated the back-to-school meetings that she had to go to; the ones that her mother obviously couldn't manage alone. And what? Were they supposed to help her somehow? Come on, Fella was only going into Middle School. It wasn't like she was moving to Rome and living as a monk in a monastery.

Did they even have monks in Rome? Whatever, Fella could pretend if she wanted to. Maybe she would write stories about it later. Monks in Rome. Ronks. Momes. Mronks. Rmomes.

"Fella, I can tell you're getting bored with the meeting." Mother whispered, trying her best to make sure it didn't carry far through the small classroom of people. Fella looked up at her dramatically, lost in a mess of origami made from the handouts they'd been given. She had tied her shoelaces together from sheer boredom, and she was currently working on making substitute make-up from the bits of crayon she'd found on the floor.

"What was your first clue?" Fella spat back painfully. Like each moment she spent in that room, the room filled with sweaty adults and noisy children, was strangling her. Mother raised one eyebrow and sighed. Fella liked Mother's sighs. They were gentle and sweet, and seemed to fill the gap that silence made awkward. She reached back onto the stack of disclosures that she was (supposed to be) signing and showed Fella a drawing she'd sketched.

It was a simple little stick figure (Mother couldn't draw to save her life) holding up a sign and pointing to it dramatically with an angry face.

"Mom," Fella laughed softly, "Seriously, what's that supposed to be? An upset salesman?"

"Oh, well can't you tell?" Mother seemed genuinely surprised as she looked back over the drawing to fix flaws. "I thought I drew it perfectly."

"Mom, drew what?"

"In the back, there," Came the voice of the teacher. Fella and her mother froze solid and they both turned, guiltily, to face their imposing doom. "Do you have a question?"

"No sir." Came the unison reply.

"Well then listen, if you would; this will help guarantee your child does not have any unexcused absences." And then he turned and continued on with his sermo— erm — lecture.

"Hey Fells." Fella's Mom started. "You aren't going to skip class?"

"No."

"Good enough. Back to my art."

"Art?" Fella snorted. Quietly, though. It was a quiet snort.

"Well, yes. I even had a model." Fella's Mother pointed out at the window. Fella, who already knew what was coming before she turned all the way around, had a grin plastered to her face as she saw Tony. He was standing outside, wearing a neon jacket with his hair all a mess, and he had slapped an ad up on the window for Fella to see. He pointed at it angrily for dramatic emphasis.

Considering, Mother did a fair job depicting the preteen.

It was an ad for a nearby malt shop that had just opened, and Tony displayed a few coins in his hand that would purchase the two of them a strawberry shake.

"Hey, Mom, that thing I said about not skipping class?"

"Mmm-hmmm?"

"I lied for today." And, giving mother a quick hug and an awkward public 'I love you,' Fella was out the door as silently as a mouse.

Or, if you prefer, a Monk from Rome.

* * *

_Present_

* * *

"No, she knew about it. How would she know that I imagined it was a black guitar instead of a chrome one?" Tony held one hand up to his ear to conceal his Bluetooth as he swiveled around in his chair. He'd been spinning left for some while now, so feeling the need to do something different he stopped, waited a moment, and then started spinning right. "I guess it's coincidence. But, you know that thing I said about her earlier? — No, not the hater thing, stupid. — No, I'd recognized her from somewhere, Happy. It's on the tip of my tongue and I just want to pluck it o—"

"Ahem."

Tony stopped spinning. Then, much quieter, "Hey, Happy, I'm gonna have to call you back. — Because I'm in a meeting. You know, sweaty old men in jackets from the 80's." And when the man standing at the front of the room, who was wearing a jacket made out of thick tan corduroy, made eye contact with Tony (looking particularly offended), Stark gave him a thumbs up and an insincere nod of approval.

"Mr. Stark," came the highly-offended reply. ('WTF?' Thought Tony, 'I gave him a thumbs up, what more does he want from me?') "If you could pay attention, this meeting has everything to do with your stocks and net revenue. So if you'd like not for the company to crash under your inferior care —" before Tony could snap something back about being the only person who had an IQ over 21 in the room, the man slicked back his graying hair and went back to pie charts on the StarkBoard.

Psh. Invent a new, fantastic SmartBoard that has the most possible tech in it and what do you get?

Pie charts.

Tony groaned and slumped down in his seat, feeling the artificial leather pull at his suit jacket. His modern suit-jacket, mind you. He didn't even understand why he had to be at this meeting. It was his secretary's doing. All his secretary's doing. Clementine, wasn't that her name? This was a moment when Tony regretted hiring someone with looks over a brain. The second Clementine heard "revenue meeting," she immediately signed Tony up for it, thinking it would do him good.

Well, there he was, already possessing the knowledge he was being taught, and surrounded by small business owners in a less-than-satisfactory office building.

He would give his left foot and half of his arm to get out of this hell.

As the corduroy suited man continued to drole on about something (ABSOLUTELY) pointless, Tony caught a glimmer of reddish gold from the corner of his eye. He liked those colors anyway, so he immediately snapped up and stared out the glass door. There was nothing in the hallway.

So now his mind was playing tricks on him, eh? Well, two could play at that – wait. But if it was his own mind he was playing with, than he was just playing a game with himself? But… that's not…

NO! THERE IT WAS AGAIN!

"I KNEW I WASN'T GOING INSANE!" Tony cried out, one eye twitching, as he got on his knees on the chair to point at the glass door. "FELLA! I KNOW YOU'RE THERE!" Plus a crazy laugh. "I SAW YOUR HAIR, FELLA!"

"Mr. Stark, if I could ask you to sit d – "

"SHUT UP, I KNOW WHAT I SAW!" Tony cried out, flailing around to confront corduroy-man, "AND WHY THE HELL DO YOU WEAR THAT SUIT?! SERIOUSLY?! YOU LIVE IN THE 21ST CENTURY!" And then, after a little pause, "AND GET THOSE PIE CHARTS OFF MY STARKBOARD!"

When Tony looked back out to the hallway, Fella was indeed sitting there on the ground, by a cubicle, wearing a loose sweatshirt. She had a very specific "WTF are you doing?" face painted on, and she clutched to an ad in her hands for dear life. Tony pointed at the ad.

Fella held it up. It was for a nearby malt shop. Strawberry shakes. There was even a coupon with it. The coupon was what sold Tony to leave the meeting. For sure.

"I'M LE- I mean." Tony cleared his throat, adjusted his suit, and turned the psychopath switch off, "I'm leaving. Please continue wasting your time without me, I'm sure the beauty in the room will diminish with my absence. Seriously. That corduroy suit."

xXxXx

"I should thank you for rescuing me."

"So thank me."

"Meh." Tony capped his straw with his thumb and put the bottom of the straw in his mouth. "No thank you."

"Ugh." Fella rolled her eyes and tucked her hair behind one ear. This apparently brought Tony's attention off his shake and onto Fella's hair. Tony had the attention span of a fish with ADD.

"I really like the color of your hair." Tony noted, taking another drink of the strawberry dairy goodness. Fella looked up at him with her green eyes suspiciously. She would never get used to compliments from Tony Stark. "It's almost too perfect to be real, though, that color."

Fella seemed to freeze when he said that. Her arms, which were resting on the booth table, tensed up and she didn't move for a long while. "I liked my hair. That's why I chose this color."

"So it's fake then, eh?" Tony said, tilting back and chuckling with the images of hair color ads running through his head. Fella stared down into her strawberry shake and didn't move.

"You could say that."

But before Tony could interrogate her any further, the waitress came over to bill them. Tony glared at her and signaled "not yet," she walked away – but the moment talking about Fella's hair was gone. And Fella seemed to be feeling uncomfortable with it anyway.

"I still need to interview you." She said simply.

"I suppose you do." Tony said, just as simply.

He watched her take another sip of her milkshake, and then she looked out the window, The light hit her pale face just enough that it strummed something in the pit of Tony's stomach. He knew this girl. He really knew her.

And if it required him delaying the interview until he found out, he would do it.

"Waitress," Tony signaled her over. "We'll take two more strawberry shakes to go. And here. We have a coupon."


	12. Of Scarves and Stalkers

_**Flashback – The first day of Middle School**_

* * *

So Fella decided something – she didn't like stairs. Stairs, she decided, are gross. And tiring. Why did Tony have so many stairs in front of his house anyway? Who needed that many stairs? They seemed to drag on forever. And Fella wondered, she genuinely wondered, if Heaven was going to be at the top. But she'd climbed all these stairs before. Very enthusiastically, too, when she would go with Tony up to his house. So why were they exhausting NOW?

Maybe it was because she was bigger and had more matter to lug around. Fella stopped and thought about this. Maybe it was even the backpack strapped over her shoulders. School hadn't even started yet (in about 30 minutes it would), and she had textbooks that she needed to take with her.

Seriously. What kind of educational system is that messed up?

Maybe Fella would just be a writer instead of a teacher, so she didn't have to deal with all that crap.

Fella tucked her lavender scarf around her neck a little tighter, pretending it was some sort of friendly snake whose only purpose in life was to keep her warm. It was actually Mom's scarf. Mom had a lot of scarves, now. But she didn't tell Fella why she'd bought so many. She only asked Fella to wear one each day, keep it close, and think of her whenever she could. The way Mom acted scared Fella sometimes, and Fella spent several nights crying for no reason – her mind running the worst case scenarios of what could be wrong. All she wanted to do was hug her mother and ask if she was okay, inwardly begging that the answer would be 'yes.' '_Yes, Fella dear, I'll be okay.' 'Fella, darling, nothing is wrong, I promise._' So she could put her mind at ease. But she tried to push her fears out of the way for school, at least.

Finally, she lugged her way up to the top (suddenly feeling accomplished, like she needed to stick an American flag at the top and say something inspirational) and clambered up to the door. Hesitating to look at her reflection in the window and brush off her new dress, Fella wondered why she even cared about the way she looked around Tony. They were best friends. She didn't need to worry about the way she looked. But she did.

After giving her throat a good clear, Fella knocked on the door and took a step back. She tried to picture what she looked like and attempted to keep her tired breathing under control.

The door opened. The man that stepped into the frame wasn't Tony's father at all. He was average-looking, and must have only been in his twenties. His face was round and nice, and he wasn't slim nor overweight. His hairline was receding ever so slightly for someone so young, but the cheeriness in his face seemed to make it unnoticeable at all.

Fella decided it would be best if she talked first. "Hello, is Tony's dad home?"

"Not today, he's been really caught up in his work, recently." The man said kindly. "I'm going to be taking Tony to school. I drive a lot for his dad. Would you like a ride?"

"Wait," subconsciously playing with her backpack strings, Fella became much more timid. "Tony said he'd walk with me. He didn't say anything about it?" The young man's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. He glanced back under his arm; Fella could hear Tony inside, shuffling around and humming to himself like nothing had happened.

"No, he didn't mention anything about walking with…" The man stopped short. It wasn't that big of a deal, Tony forgetting about walking with Fella. But to Felicia, it was. It was a very big deal. When the faint remnants of 7th grader tears brimmed at her eyes, the man talked again in cheery tones to help her smile, "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Felicia Montgomery." She said softly. Now she was fully aware that she was fiddling with the backpack string. She stared at it intently to avoid being completely exposed, letting her soft red hair fall around her face.

"Oh, Fella, wasn't it?" He laughed brightly, and Fella's stomach seemed to pick itself back up a little. "He talks about you quite a bit, Fella. You guys must be close friends."

"I guess so." A flick of the hair later, Fella's face was back in the world and ready to punch Tony's arm for forgetting they were walking together that morning.

"Well, hello Fella. That's a very pretty dress you have on. It must be new." The young man opened the door wide and gestured for her to come in. "It seems you have some extra time since you aren't walking. Did you eat breakfast this morning?"

"No." Fella said briskly, resisting the lump in her throat that made her want to say 'Mom and I don't have the money for breakfast.'

"Come on in and eat some French Toast and eggs, then. This fall weather is mighty crisp in the mornings." He smiled and Fella walked into the spacious mansion that felt like home to her. It even smelled similar. Not quite. It didn't smell like Mom; but it was close enough. "My name is Harold," the man said again. "But you can call me Happy."

Fella didn't really think much of it. She was just grateful that Harold could drive. So she didn't have to go down all those stairs.

* * *

**xXxXx**

* * *

The backspace key was Felicia's best friend. She'd certainly hit it enough times to consider it that. She almost felt kind of guilty for using it so extensively, without so much as taking it out to dinner first. So now, along with the frustration (and tiny sense of power) that comes along with the backspace key, she felt a little twinge of guilt with each backspace, too.

But what else was there to do?

The cursor glinted up at her angrily, waiting for her to do something with it. And her little tiny journalist notepad, the one that she usually tucked in her back pocket to whip out at any moment, was sitting next to the keyboard of her hotel room's computer. But even that wasn't of any use to her. When she flicked back to the notes she'd taken of Tony the first time they'd run into each other, she realized it was just a mess of insults and vulgar drawings.

There was even a sketch of him being eaten by crocodiles.

On fire.

Fella typed (yet another) first line. 'The ownder of a multi-billion dollar company…' No, but this was a flame article. That was far too nice. So she slammed down on the backspace key and tried again. 'The arrogant, self-centered, unsettlingly perfect owner of Stark Industries…' But that was too many insults. So she deleted it. Again.

Three weeks. That was all she had left in Malibu. Three weeks until she was supposed to hand Daveth a printer-perfect copy of her article. The article that she'd been waiting since college to write. And yet there she was, sitting at a hotel computer, with nothing but an empty screen and a drawing of someone being eaten by crocodiles in front of her.

Fella shoved her keyboard away from her and let her hair rest down on the desk as she set her head down. She was never going to get this article done. She peeked up at the other thing sitting on the desk with her — a half-melted strawberry shake from the night before. The one Tony had bought Fella to go before he dropped her off at the hotel and thanked her profusely for saving him from the meeting.

'_Yeah, why did I even do that, anyway?_' Fella found herself wondering. Clementine. It was Clementine's fault, that stupid, brainless secretary. Fella had gone to Stark's building in the hopes that she would be able to catch him for the interview. Clementine was the one who informed her that Tony was in a meeting at a nearby office scraper, and she could probably meet him there. So, in theory, getting shakes with Stark was just an excuse to try to get the interview out of the way.

A failed attempt.

That doesn't mean Fella didn't enjoy her shakes.

Fella stared at that half-melted cream and strawberry puree soup. It screamed to be thrown away. But while the shake practically said "Throw me away, Fella. I'm old and probably laden with bacteria and gross and stuff like that" all Felicia heard was "Hey, if you throw me away, I'll make a mess of your garbage can. So drink me." And Fella didn't want to pay the hotel so they could buy a new garbage can. So she snatched it up and sipped on it as she went about her other business.

'Other business' referring to her suitcase. She was in Malibu. People are lazy in Malibu. So she didn't really take the time to unpack fully when she got off the plane. What she was left with was a bag that looked like it had thrown up random items all over her bed. Occasionally, Fella would reach into this mess to find her toothbrush. Other than that, she didn't need to do anything with it. She even slept with it sitting there on the end of the bed.

She was a writer. She didn't need to be organized. That was for accountants and stuff like that.

Just as she was about to stop looking at her suitcase (maybe go be productive and check out the vending machines in the hotel; if a hotel this nice even had vending machines – every building everywhere should have vending machines in Felicia Montgomery's perfect world), but something screamed for her attention. She took another small sip of her shake.

Spilling out from the front of the suitcase was what Fella had been trying not to look at. It was a colorful array of rectangular scarves. Each one was different than the others, each one handpicked for its color or its design, each one searched by Felicia herself and purchased with her own money. And after she'd gotten them, at various times and locations, she hoped she would be brave enough to wear them. As a sign of hope to ease her own heart, maybe. Now she couldn't bring herself to do it. The world was too judgmental and intimidating for that. But maybe –

Fella reached up and touched her hair.

Her hand fell back to her side.

She couldn't bring herself to wear one today. Maybe tomorrow.

But until then, it was back to drinking the disgusting old shake and doing something productive. She exited out of her Word Document, grabbed her wallet, and started her search for completely unhealthy comfort food. Because she decided that today was the day to break up with the backspace key.

* * *

xXxXx

* * *

"Tones?" Came that one irritating voice again. Tony shoved it out of his brain and focused on his (very important) work. He typed in another name, clicked 'Search' and paddled through the unyielding results, only to start the cycle over again.

"Tony?" It came again.

"WHAT?!" Tony flipped around on his swivel chair and faced Happy with an absolutely terrifying face.

"Have you, I don't know, maybe considered that the girl doesn't HAVE a Facebook account?" Happy said dully. A small flash of fear flew over Tony's face. If she didn't have a Facebook, then this whole thing was pointless. And Tony couldn't bear the thought that he just spent the last three hours doing something pointless. So he denied it, flipped back around, and continued his searching.

"Everyone has a Facebook, Happy." He said simply.

"Not me."

"Everyone except for you, then."

"Tony," Happy leaned forward like he was about to start a drug intervention. All he needed was a sad letter, some tears, and they were ready for a TV reality drama, "When was the last time you took a shower?"

Tony didn't even take his eyes off his computer to say, "I'm not going anywhere, I don't need a shower."

"And the last time you slept?"

"Who needs sleep when you have a mystery on your hands?" Tony said simply, like Happy should have already known all this. He turned around for a moment, stared his bodyguard down with his wide-open eyes, and said, "Come on, Happy. You're supposed to be my Watson." Then, doing some sort of weird flailing arm-dance as he turned away, "Come now, the game is afoot."

"Have you considered that maybe – just maybe – you're kind of having the tendencies of…. Oh, I don't know…" Happy's face dropped, "A stalker?"

Tony didn't even hear Happy, he only drummed his fingers on his mouse and mumbled "Come on, where are you, where are you? Who are you, Fella?" Tony stopped short and glanced over his shoulder. "Did you say something, Happy?" But before he could respond, "Never mind, it probably wasn't very important."

"Great." Happy cracked open the newspaper again. "Just wonderful. My boss is turning into a serial killer."

"There's a vast difference between stalker and serial killer," Tony's muffled voice said. Happy, although genuinely afraid of what he was going to see, peered over the top of his paper to look at Tony, who was zipping up a black hoodie, "Get it right." And he was out the door of the penthouse.

A few more seconds ticked by. Seconds of complete peace for Happy. He was even considering raiding Tony's fridge or eating all his beef jerky. That was what normal people do when the owners of the house leave. Eat their food. But he was interrupted again.

"Sir," JARVIS was not the voice Happy was expecting to hear.

"Jarv, if this isn't important, I'll unplug you."

"The girl sent to interview Mr. Stark, do you know who she is? I don't seem to have her in any of my records. And my records have a reputation of being relatively vast."

"That's because Tony deleted her out of them when he started running the company." Happy sighed and set down the paper. The sound of sadness was overwhelming in his voice as he looked at the door Tony had left through. "And yes, J., I _do _know who she is."


	13. Sundae Monday

_Flashback_

* * *

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

_It won't be too long now. Not too long. Mom is..._

Fella's mind was nothing more than a numbed instrument, plucking along with the beeping of the machines in what was supposed to be a comfort. But it wasn't. With the –

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

_ Mom, we were supposed to do so many things. _

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Fella's hands were starting to feel like Mom's now. They were getting colder with fear. The tips of her fingers were a little tingly, but she wouldn't let go. Fella wouldn't let go for anything.

_I don't want to be alone, Mom. Please don't leave me alone. Please. _

Beep. Beep.

Mom reached up carefully with one shaky hand and untucked the scarf from around her bare head. Her eyes were so hollow. She didn't looks scared. She didn't look like anything at all. She looked empty, like she was being drained.

_The doctors aren't doing anything to help her,_ Fella thought in panic, _The doctors should be helping her. How can they just stand there? _

Mom gave the scarf another look, just briefly. Mom's eyes were always so pretty. They were so pretty. Then she reached the scarf over to Fella, who (with tears brimming in her adolescent eyes) took it from her gingerly. Mom didn't say anything. She didn't have the energy, the doctors said. And she never really would again. But she gave Fella the scarf.

Beep.

"Mom, I love you." Fella said painfully. "I really really love you, Mom." The tears slipped out of her eyes and spilled down onto the fabric of the scarf. "I love you so much." She didn't know what else to say. She wanted to say 'I'm sorry for not being good enough' or 'I'm sorry for giving you such a hard time.' 'I'm sorry Dad left us.' 'I'm sorry we won't be able to have Sundae Mondays anymore.' 'I'm sorry you won't see me get married.' I'm sorry. But all that came out of her mouth was "I love you."

Beep.

"I love you too, Fella." Mom muttered. Her voice sounded like it was balancing on some sort of shaky bridge, unstable and scared. "You'll be okay, Fella, I know you will. I'm so proud of you."

"I can't." Fella tried to choke back her tears.

"Yes you can." Mom took Fella's hand in her own, and then slowly linked their pinkies together. Fella tried not to let the tears make wet marks down her face. She only scooted a little closer to the hospital bed. "Pinky promise."

And Fella cried.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beeeeeeeeeep.

* * *

xXxXx

* * *

Present

* * *

Mondays suck.

That simple little statement is just a fact of life. The universe ordained one day of the week for all the evil to be concentrated into. And that day was Monday. Monday, in the dictionary, should be defined as 'See: Evil.' Nothing more. Nothing less.

Except for Fella. Mondays were Sundae Mondays. Mondays were when she and her mother would go out and get two massive ice cream cones as they wandered around to do their Monday shopping. Occasionally, they would go to the fancier malt shop and sit down to chat. Those were some of Fella's best memories, those Sundae Mondays.

So this is where we find Felicia Montgomery. She was inside one of Malibu's ice cream parlours. She was overjoyed in the first place to have found one. That joy radiated past her initial appalled feeling when she saw the crippling prices, and that joy radiated so much that she completely ignored those prices altogether. Today was going to be a good day, she decided.

The look on the cashier's face as he weighed the two cups of frozen yogurt was hilarious. Fella tapped her fingers on the counter, waiting for him to tally up the price so she could hand him her debit card. As he rang up the order, he deftly tipped to one side to see if there was anyone behind Fella, anyone she was buying the ice cream for.

"It's just me." Fella said dully, leaning to interrupt his view. "Can't a girl get two cups of ice cream? Seriously, what has society come to?" She tossed the card at him, scooped up the two bowls and snatched it back when he was done. Then (with her pride completely in tact) Fella strutted on over to the nearest empty booth, set one ice cream bowl in front of herself, and slid the other to the place across from her.

There was an ungodly amount of toppings on her own yogurt. Because today wasn't any ordinary Sundae Monday. It was October 28th.

Mom's deathdate.

And instead of being all sad about it (Fella took extra care on her eyeliner this morning, she wasn't going to let a few sentimental tears ruin it), she decided to stay happy. With one of Mom's scarves wrapped on her neck and two bowls of ice cream, Fella wouldn't be afraid to be happy. After all, what else would Mom want Fella to be? Other than happy?

So Fella was going to be –

The door tinkled as someone came into the store.

Fella looked up.

It was Stark.

Of – freaking – course.

Fella could practically hear, if she listened past the sound of the anger bubbling in her ears, all her happiness flushing down some unseen toilet. He made eye contact with her, she snarled, and he made an immediate bee-line to sit in the booth.

"Hello, again, mystery Fella." Tony crooned, flashing on a smile as he tucked his Ray-Ban shades in the neck of his jacket. Fella grunted something and looked down at her dessert. Tony took that as a 'hello' back, and he went along in talking. "I see you've already ordered me ice cream." And as he was reaching to scoot the bowl closer to him, Fella scooted it away.

"No."

"Wh – then why do you have two….?"

"It's an inside joke." Fella said quietly.

"Okay…." Tony coughed. "Weirdo." He coughed again. "I have come to you with serious business!" And he threw his hands down on the table dramatically. The table shook violently, making Fella's hand slip from supporting her face to betraying her by punching it instead.

"No!" Fella denied. She groaned and rubbed her eye where she'd just decked herself unwillingly.

"You haven't even heard what I'm proposing!" Tony said, doing his best impression of being offended.

"Don't you have something else to do?" Fella asked. She was practically begging him to leave her in peace. "Something sciency or saving people or whatever? I mean, how did you even FIND me here?"

Tony's face went blank. He flashed back to when Happy called him a stalker, and all of a sudden that word sunk down in his skin and made him feel… weird. So weird his eye even twitched a little. After a moment of telling himself he wasn't a creep, Tony was able to come up with a logical response to Fella's legitimate question.

"Because tacos."

"What?!"  
Avoiding the topic of being a stalker like a boss. _Point one for Tony Stark._ "Now, listen." Tony cleared his throat. Because clearing one's throat is very important when one has something important to announce. It makes it more… official. "Halloween is in three days."

"And..,?"

"Happy told me I need to be more caring or whatever about the kids in the city. Cause every year those snot-nosed little vermin come traipsing up to my door, expecting me to give them crap." Tony said. "I hate kids, can I tell you that? I bet I was never a kid."

Fella snorted.

Tony ignored it.

"Anyway, apparently, I'm going to be home that night instead of at a very important press conference that COULD have an effect on the future of my company."

"Meaning the Buy-One-Get-One Halloween special at the bar on the corner?" Fella said dully. Tony's eyes went wide.

"Totally doesn't matter." He said quickly. "The point is, you can come over and fit in your interview."

"No."

"I'll make sure you don't have to clear it with Clementine."

"Clementine the receptionist."

"Yes."

"Maybe I'll think about it."

"I mean really…." Tony leaned back in the booth, and his jacket pulled against the cheap vinyl, making one of those sounds that makes the hair on your arms stand up. Like when some stupid substitute teacher (the one that always thinks they have a degree in being a boss) scratches their nails across the board, and the only thing you can think about doing is ducking under the desk and holding your ears. Except Fella resisted the urge to dive under the table. Instead, she only cringed a little and picked at her mountain of frozen dairy. "It's a perfect opportunity to just get it out of the way and gone."

"I said I'd think about it, didn't I?" Fella muttered again. "Maybe I have Halloween plans."

"If by 'Halloween plans' you mean the Wal-Mart sale on shampoo?" Tony smirked, feeling like he'd topped Fella's previous remark about the bar. But her facial expressions, which didn't change at all, showed him that he hadn't succeeded in anything more than perhaps pissing her off a little. Or maybe a lot. He didn't know. Girls were stupid.

"Fine. Halloween. I'll find my way up to your mansion." Fella said bitterly, looking down at her ice cream. And Tony, realizing that he'd struck some sort of nerve in her, suddenly felt very guilty. That feeling ate him up, and he felt like each of his inner organs was being dissolved. He didn't know what to say to make it better, though, so he decided not to say anything at all.

"If you wanted to bring, like, a bag of candy or something for the kids… I dunno." Tony said quietly, picking at the zipper of his jacket. "They might like you more than they like me." Fella looked up at him, hearing the guilt seeping through the cracks in his voice. Men were always bad at hiding emotions.

"Just one bag of candy?" Fella said softly, with a small smile, "You don't want any extra for us?"  
Tony smiled.

"Whatever you want to do, I'm okay with it. If you bring food into my house, I'll eat it."

"It's not morally right to go to sleep Halloween night with a stomach that isn't twisting from sugar overdose."

"True story." Tony laughed softly, but there was still an uneasiness about his voice. Fella hesitated, but then she reached out and scooted the other bowl of yogurt back in front of Tony. He looked down at it with curious eyes.

"Go ahead. No use in not letting you eat it. I know I won't be able to." She said with a little laugh in her nose. And then, as Tony started into the iced dairy, Fella made one last little remark in her head. _Sorry, Mom. He needs that ice cream more than you do. _

* * *

xXxXx

* * *

"A box of Lucky Charms, a package of gum, shampoo, and…" The cashier paused for just a moment. Fella looked down at her wallet and pulled out the money that would have to cover the following item. "And 13 bags of mixed candy." He looked over at her with confused eyes. "You holding a Halloween party or something?"

"Nope."

"So what's all this candy for?"

"Eating." Fella gave him the money and took her bags. "Have a Happy Halloween."

"…uh. Yeah. You too. I guess."


	14. Sugar Ain't Got Nothin' on Us

_HAI._

_A/N: So. That was quite the gap of inactivity, wasn't it? But guess who's back from her bout of illness! :D Me! Also, it's my birthday today. So you should forgive me for this string of no updates. I still love you guys immensely. And to show it, I've come back with a super polished chapter that I'm actually rather quite fond of._  
_Please forgive me!_

_-Phan_

* * *

_Flashback_

* * *

Fella wasn't really okay enough to go trick-or-treating with Tony this year. But Tony was given no forewarning to this. So there he was, all dressed up like a mafia boss and tapping his foot impatiently, spinning the cord of the phone with his fingertips. He'd called three times now to Fella's house without a single response, and now he understood why the mafia kills people.

People deserved to be killed.

This, at least, was the mindset of an impatient 13-year-old who was candy-hungry and prepared to do anything to get his hands on the sugary gold.

But no one was at Fella's house to pick up the phone. It was empty, and the call did nothing more than extend through the hallways and echo in the bathrooms. Fella, after Mom's death, had gone to live with her Aunt Chell as the former started funeral preparations. Aunt Chell promised Fella that she could pick out the flowers to line Mom's casket. There would even be a set of two teddy bears, one to be buried with Mom, and one for Fella to keep on her bed.

Teddy bears didn't replace the gap that just got torn up in Fella's soul, though.

Tony looked out his window at the Halloween sky. The light was barely visible over the horizon – the perfect time for trick-or-treating. And if Fella didn't pick up soon, they were gonna miss some of the best candy hotspots. The weather reports said it was going to storm later that night, too. So, in retrospect, they had a very small window for the most ideal candy harvesting. Tony groaned, dialed the number again and tapped his foot.

Fifth time's the charm.

* * *

_Present_

* * *

The kids and their costumes were cute. But not a single one of them helped Fella carry the arm loads of bags of candy up to Tony's door.

Those no good, snot-nosed little...

The main gates separating all the world from Tony Stark had been opened for this momentous occasion called "Halloween." This let a steady flow of courageous children take their journey up to the door of the billionaire's house by the sea. The crashing waves down on the cliff's face created what was the only haunting soundtrack available. And, as Fella cursed the children she passed, she noticed that only a few paparazzi were staking out on the outskirts of the property. It was unusual, really. That there were no reporters. That, and the fact that the majority of trick or treaters up to Stark's house actually seemed to be KIDS. Not skanks dressed up in revealing bunny costumes.

Thank God.

Fella came for an interview (whilst handing out sugar), not emotional and mental scarring.

She finally reached the main door, standing next to a preteen looking girl dressed as a Southern Belle. The girl reached out and rang the doorbell before turning to Fella. It seemed as if even preteens had some sense of social pressure regarding small talk.

"It's going to storm later tonight, you know." The girl said cheerily, swinging around her half-full candy bucket. The fake freckles on her face sparkled in the light of Tony's massive, extravagant porch.

"Is that so?" Fella let one plastic bag full of candy rest on her knee to prevent the weight from severing the blood to her forearm. "Where'd you hear that?"

The girl responded by pointing out to one of the cars parked in front of Tony's estate. "My mom told me. She heard it on the news." Fella didn't hear much more of what the girl said. Her mind had stopped on the word "mom." Like it was scavenging for some sort of definition to pair it with, some fond memories. Maybe it was Sundae Monday that created an aqueduct for draining away all things happy. Either way, the only thing that shook Fella out of this trance was when the girl cried out "TRICK OR TREAT!"

Fella hadn't even noticed the door was open.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, here." Stark's voice was irritated as he dropped a fake apple into the girl's basket. Or was it a pear...? Fella didn't see a difference in color. "Merry Halloween, or whatever. Go play in the streets." The girl gave him a very apathetic look, and then it was down the stairs and off to another house for her as twilight simmered on the horizon.

"She acted like she was expecting that; getting plastic fruit." Felicia chuckled as she watched the girl clamber into her Mother's car.

"Isn't that what people hand out nowadays?" Tony opened the door wider to let Fella come in. Or, at least that's what Fella HOPED he opened the door wider for. Otherwise she totally just cantered onto private property and could be sued. Surprisingly enough, she didn't really care...

... He didn't seem to care either. He just shut the door behind her and swept his arm next to her own to take a majority of the plastic bags. Boom. Just like that Fella could feel her pinkies again. And a good thing that was; she'd been briefly contemplating what her quality of life would be if she had to live with amputated pinkies. Opening doorknobs could be managed — but what about typing? Then long business emails would become mountains to climb, and the semicolon key would always be just out of reach. Her handwriting would probably look like it was the writing of the devil, freshly printed from the press companies in Hell. Press companies whose addresses were probably along the lines of '666 brimstone lane' and had wrought iron fences and printers made out of blood and —

"Oh, are you watching that?" Tony snapped Fella out of her glaze-eyed daze. She only just realized she'd spaced out with her eyes on his high-def television, where rampant amounts of gore were making their way merrily across the screen. "It was just the Halloween thing on; I didn't have much else to do. What were you thinking about?"

"You know, blood doesn't spray like that." Fella reasoned, pointing one accusatory finger at the television and avoiding the topic of her thoughts. "If those people had that much pressure in their bloodstreams, they'd already be dead."

"Jeez, it's dark in your brain."

"It has a tendency to be that way, yeah."

"You need a nightlight or something up there, you're kinda giving me daytime nightmares. Daymares."

"Well," Fella walked around a bit, trying to get her bearings. The layout of Tony's house — mansion — was different than any she'd been in. "When the color of blood is the same as the color of vomit to someone, they have a tendency not to consider it very scary."

"Ew."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

"You're not allowed to come to my house anymore if you're just going to creep me out. Also, if you spill red wine in my carpet, your face is going to meet the lovely pavement of my driveway."

"Your pavement seems like quite the gentleman."

"Yes, it is quite charming." Tony looked down at his own red wine, maybe considering how much he wished it were actually whiskey and then wondering why he'd poured it in the first place. Wine impresses people, right? But he wasn't trying to impress Felicia. Definitely not. So he set the glass down on the countertop and left it to sit and think about what it'd done. "Here," He said, walking down a few stairs to join Fella on her level. "Let me show you around. Not to be polite or anything. Just so you don't have a breakdown when you're trying to find the bathroom."

"You don't want me to make a mess on your precious carpet?" Fella smirked, following Tony's guidance up toward his greeting area.

"Well it's better than the wine, I suppose..." He stopped and gestured at the grand room. "Room, Fella. Fella, room. Piano." He pointed at it. "Waterwall." He pointed at it. "Couch." He pointed at it. "Window." He pointed at it. It was huge. "Stairs. They go up to the other floor, where the bar and the stuff and rooms are. Boring stuff. You wanna see downstairs?"

Tony gave Fella this look. It was full of pure enthusiasm — like he was genuinely excited for something. She remembered that look ALL the time. When he had some art project to show her, or to tell her something about a girl he'd met in school. But this time it was a little different (aside from the facial hair). There was a mask of arrogance over it— but not even that. It was the innocence that was the mask, and the arrogance was a thick rust you could see buried underneath. It was depressing, really, to her. It made her want to go find a blanket and an old photo album to feed the sadness.

"Yeah, why n—"

"Sir, there's another one at the door."

"Then handle it, JARVIS." Tony snapped back, putting one hand on his hip. Fella raised her eyebrow at such a display of sass.

"I would, if I'd been programmed to be cordial to children..."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm definitely not implying that my lack of children social skills is the fault of the programmer, which, ironically, so happens to be you."

"Ooh." Fella went back and forth from looking at Tony to the ceiling (since she didn't know exactly where from the disembodied voice was coming). "He gets snarky, doesn't he?"

"You should see him when I ask him to make me a cup of coffee in the morning..." Tony grumbled under his breath.

"I wish he would ask me to prepare him coffee." JARVIS almost sighed sadly, "But he always drinks a filthy concoction that I don't have the recipe of. And then he blames it on ME when he spills it on his character pajamas."

"That's not—!" Tony gave Fella a low, blushy kind of look that was unsettled, borderline embarrassed. "I don't have Harry Potter pajamas," he mumbled as he grabbed a bag of candy and made a beeline for the door. "That's not true."

"JARVIS didn't say they were Harry Potter, Tony." Fella pointed out.

A pause.

And then —

"SHUT UP."

Fella heard the door open, Tony flustered with the bag of candy, and then he was coming back down the stairs as the door closed with a heavy 'thud.'

"I hate kids." Tony sputtered, dumping the mauled bag of sugar into Fella's arms.

"Sir, there's another—"

"You know what, J?" Tony also looked at the ceiling. Even he didn't know where the disembodied voice was coming from. "How's about every time someone comes to the door you just give a loud 'DING DONG.' Okay? Like, I actually want you to say it. Every time. Every freaking time."

It sounded like something was being decompressed and Felicia took that as an AI's equivalent of a sigh. Tony kept his eyes up a few more moments for good measure, and then he reached for the candy again.

But Fella pushed his hand away mid-reach.

"It's all good, Tones." She laughed, dropping most of the candy on the ground save for a few key pieces. She bounded up the stairs and for the door. "I've got this one."

* * *

xXxXx

* * *

"Ding dong."

"Oh, I'm sorry, what was that? I didn't seem to hear the doorbell."

"DING DONG!"

"Why, Felicia," Tony shoved another handful of popcorn into his mouth and chewed carefully so none of the pieces wedged their way between his teeth to create unnecessary weapons against his gums. "I do believe it's your turn."

"What are you talking about? I did the last three. And one of them nearly threw up on my shoes." She scrambled to reach the bowl of popcorn on Tony's lap without looking away from the screen. A few pieces fell down to never be eaten. But, meh, the furniture Gods needed SOMETHING sacrificed to them every once in a while.

"Fine." The exertion Tony gave to getting off the massive sofa deserved some sort of award. Going off the normal way was too mainstream for him. So he decided to pull an Indiana Jones off the back. He grabbed a handful of candy — enough to keep the sugar hungry sharks at bay — and then WHOOSH; nothing left but a dent in the cushion.

Fella looked away from the massacre-filled screen just long enough to catch sight of her backpack all the way over by the grand piano. The tip of her favorite notebook was peeking out the slightly unzipped side — just enough to see the metal spine and pen tucked in it. When she thought about getting up to fetch it so she could interview Tony, it was like every bone in her body ached. She could procrastinate it for another couple hours, right? It was only 8'o'clock, after all. She could at least wait until the wave of trick or treaters ebbed away. And then she could interview him interrupted.

It was better to procrastinate it.

Yeah.

"I'm back, give me the popcorn bowl." Tony didn't wait. He just grabbed it from her and parkoured back to his dent in the couch. "Little thief."

But Tony only had a small window of popcorn eating and relaxing before something – different happened. The screaming on the screen got traded for another kind of screaming. Mechanical screaming. Like a machine was being slaughtered brutally. Fella's heart stopped for a rough equivalent of two and a half beats when she thought it might have been JARVIS and an estranged cry for help. But then Tony, leaned forward and giving the TV an intense glare, put her suspicions at bay.

"Storm? What storm?" He asked, gesturing grandly at the blue banner going across the television. The weather alert sirens continued through the stereo system as the white words pranced over their neon blue carpet.

'WEATHER REPORT FOR MALIBU. TROPICAL STORMS BLOWING IN ALONG THE COAST. ALL THOSE NEAR BEACHES ARE ADVISED TO STAY INDOORS AND CLOSE ALL AND ANY WINDOWS. DAMAGE WILL BE ASSESSED BY LOCAL AUTHORITIES IN THE MORNING. WEATHER REPORT FOR MALIBU. TROPICAL STORMS…'

"Tony, I should get back to my hotel, then." Fella said. Maybe it was what she said or how urgently she said it that made Tony turn to her with slanted eyebrows. It was as if she just insulted his favorite grandmother and he was about to burst into tears all over his precious carpet. "…what?"

He stared at her for a few more seconds – about the same equivalent of two and a half heartbeats – and finally worked up the courage to speak.

"Uhm, yeah. Okay. Let me walk you to the door, then." Tony rubbed the back of his neck, stood up off the couch and made a distinct motion to walk away from her so she couldn't see his saddened face. "Don't forget to grab your stuff. Better you'd get home before the storm hits."

Fella cautiously made her way up to grab her bag and sling it over her shoulder. When she looked down at the grand piano, she couldn't help but notice her reflection in the shiny black surface; she looked a little sad, too. But she ignored it because that's what normal people do…

Tony lead her to the door, but she was even with him once they reached it. He gave her another look and added, "You'll have to come back some other time for that interview."  
"I know."  
"Okay." Tony looked forebodingly at the door. He didn't want anything to do with it. "Drive safe." And he swung it open wide.

The first thing that met them was a massive crackle of lightning jetting across the sky, and then directly after that a thunder clap that made Fella cover her ears instinctively. Rain poured down in heavy sheets on the other side of the porch and what few stragglers remained of the paparazzi and children rushed for shelter. Tony, saying absolutely nothing at all, shut the door.

"I could have sworn, ten minutes ago, it was as clear as crystal out there." He reared to look at Fella with confused eyes. But there was a glimmer just behind them that indicated he was incredibly pleased with this turn of events.

Fella dropped her backpack. "Looks like I'm not leaving for a while." She said monotonously. But with the same glimmer behind her eyes.

"Does this mean we're gonna have a SLUMBER PARTAY?!" Tony cried out, throwing his fists into the air as images of sugar highs danced through his head.

"Yup. Guess so."  
Tony looked at her with chagrin for another moment with his hands straight up in the air. Then, with the agility of a cripple, he sprinted off into the unknown crevices of his house.

"I'M GONNA GO GET THE BOARD GAMES."


	15. The Monsters Live Inside

_Flashback_

* * *

Tony was laughing too hard to notice – she was only a few feet away from him, Fella was, with her head down and her schoolwork piled in her arms. And, really, she didn't notice Tony either. But when he slammed into her and her things went skidding across the ground, it was mostly his fault.

Fella was quick to react, and she reached out to grab her mother's hospital bracelet before Tony could see it. She shoved it quickly into her jacket pocket.

"Oh!" Tony stooped down to help Fella pick up what had fallen out of her arms. She wouldn't look up at him. "Sorry, Fella, I didn't know that was you."

* * *

_Present_

* * *

"Damn it."

"Three hundred dollars, Tony."

"I feel like we should play Twister instead."

"Three hundred dollars, Anthony."

"Could you go down to two hundred?"

"Three hundred dollars, Tones."

"But I... the... lovely weather we're having, isn't it?"

"Tony."

"I..."

"Give me the Monopoly money."

"Fiiiiiine." Tony slowly counted out three hundred dollars from his miniscule stacks of cash and handed them warily to his opponent with evil eyes. Fella took them happily and added them to her (much larger) piles of fake money.

A few more minutes, and the game was over. This left Fella triumphant and Tony making excuses as to why he lost. "The game is too old." "Some of the money must have been missing." "A bee flew up my nose." "I had something in my eye." "You totally cheated." A loud clap of thunder interrupted his excuse-making and caused the two of them to look out the vast windows.

"You think the storm is ever going to stop?" Fella asked casually, watching the dark clouds roll slowly over one another.

Tony's eyes snapped back to her. "Why? Do you want it to, I mean, like do you have somewhere that you need to be?" Fella's eyes slowly trailed over to meet Tony's and he tried his best to look as relaxed as possible.

"I'd like to head home eventually, yeah."

"Oh."

"Don't sound so disappointed."

"No, I mean. It's not that, it's just that we haven't even cracked out the movies or the twizzlers or the anything yet. What kind of slumber party is this?"

"Well," Fella leaned back against the couch and stretched her legs out on the floor. "You haven't changed into your Harry Potter pajamas yet, so I don't see any reason why we should eat twizzlers."

Breaking the air of what would have potentially turned into the battleground of an all-out word war, the phone's panicked ringing echoed through the house. "SHUT UP." Tony pointed at Fella, feeling that was a good way to end the argument over character pajamas, and trotted over to pick up the phone. "We'll discuss this in a minute, damn you!" He said, right before shoving the receiver up to his ear.

Fella was left to shake her head and clean up the tiny little plastic houses that started it all.

"Yeah, man…" Tony's voice was worried enough that it perked Fella's interest. "Whoa, slow down… okay, yeah… no, the suit can fly in the rain… where… Rhodey, slow down. Where's it happening? … how many injured… God, okay, I'm heading out now… no, try to keep them…. No, Rhodey you're breaking up. Just hang on and let me get there…" Tony's worried demeanor went into all-out seriousness as he slammed the phone back down.

"What…?"

"I have to go, you're going home. I won't be back tonight." Tony started quickly for the stairs to his basement. "I'll tell Happy to come pick you up and drive you to the hotel."

"I can drive myself…"

"No," The anger that emanated through Tony's voice took Fella aback. His eyebrows were tight and he was practically radiating a sense of hurriedness. "Happy is coming to pick you up, and that's final. Get your stuff and wait for him here."

"You're not my…!" But Tony was gone and Fella was left by herself in the massive parlour. "You're not my mother."

The storm's intense coverage had darkened the entire ocean view, and the little light that it allowed into the room was sickly and depressing. Fella rubbed the back of her neck and stood by the window, watching the little bits of lightning gather into larger crackles. Ocean waves tried desperately to stay synchronized, but their vain attempts only resulted in a mass scramble to beat against the rocks at shore.

JARVIS stayed quiet, too, so he must have been off assisting Tony in whatever was going on. Though Felicia would have loved some sort of company in the empty minutes before Happy arrived to take her home.

* * *

Before long, the door opened and a rain-soaked Happy came dripping into the mansion. He was still wearing a suit, and despite the wetness, he was looked very professional. Even _his_ demeanor was apprehensive and panicked.

"Hello Miss Felicia," he said cordially, "Come on, let's go while the lighting's shut up for a while." Happy kept the door open with his foot and waited until a quiet Fella walked out before he closed the door behind himself. The chill of the evening was rapidly increasing, and the rain was merciless in its downpour. Despite her best efforts to stay dry, even a quick dash to Happy's car left her dripping. The rain was a sharp contrast to the warmth of the mansion.

"What's going on?" Fella said as she buckled herself into the expensive leather seat. "If… if I'm allowed to know, I mean. Is everything okay?" The expression that Happy had in his eyes when he turned to look at her was raw and soft. Memories pricked at the back of Fella's mind, reminding her of the days when this man had driven her to school. He didn't seem to have aged a year.

"Something's happened with terrorists in Mexico." Accompanied with a soft sigh through his nose. "I don't know the details, but it seems that there's a lot of hostages being taken."

"Is Tony going to be okay?"

"He's IronMan, of course he'll be okay." The apprehension that laced that phrase left Fella more uneased than the initial phone call. But Fella hadn't asked if IronMan was going to be okay, she had asked if the man INSIDE IronMan was going to be okay.

The long ride back to the hotel across the city was filled with bouts of silence and occasional small talk. Happy was a comfortable person to be around, and the silences that happened with him were never awkward. Instead, there was a warm father-like feeling that filled the air; it was a constrasting difference from the bitter selfishness that stood like a white elephant whenever Tony was present. No one ever wanted to comment on it, but it was definitely there. Fella knew it, Tony knew it, but no one talked about it.

When they were drawing closer to the hotel, Happy said something that caught Fella off-guard. "Just because Tony hates to remember you doesn't mean that I do, Miss Montgomery."

Felicia's head snapped up, but Happy's soft eyes stayed on the road. She was suddenly terrified, like a child about to confess something dark to his parents. _This_ silence was painstaking, and every second that ticked by on the chrome-lined dashboard seemed to take forever. "Why doesn't he remember me, then, Happy?" Fella said softy.

"I don't think he's ever forgotten you… I just don't think he _wants _to remember you." Happy took a turn onto a different street. "You were part of his past, and he's swept all that under the rug. And now that you're crawling back out, he's trying his best not to look at you."

"Why, though?" Fella asked again. "I mean, why is it so painful for him? I didn't do anything to him, I didn't hurt him, I didn't betray him, I didn't leave him…"

"I think… and this is just speculation, Miss Montgomery."

"Of course."

"I think that it's his own guilt that's hurting him so much. And basically, he's trying to convince himself that it's your fault you two separated – not his."

Fella tempered the emotion pounding at her ribcage and remained calm. "How can he think that it was my fault…? I…"

"TRYING to think. Trying. He doesn't want to face the fact that he left his best friend alone to suffer in something that he was too terrified to confront with her." And the silence that followed this was warm again. Happy had just taken a crowbar, practically, and pried up old monsters that Fella was trying to hide.

Those monsters terrified her. They needed to crawl back to where she'd put them and stay there quietly. Everytime she opened up the vault to shove one of their big furry heads inside, three more shambled out. And it left her to wonder how long she'd left them in there to breed and multiply and grow…

Surely she could procrastinate fighting them for just a little longer. They could wait. She didn't feel ready to look them eye-to-eye yet. She didn't know what she was going to see reflected in the sheen of those beady glass eyes, or what foul words were going to snake between their jagged teeth.

She couldn't help but think, as she stood there gazing at the few monsters she'd released… as they shambled around clumsily with absolutely no direction…. 'Did I create these ugly things?'

Happy pulled up in front of the hotel. Felicia gave him a quick, polite 'thank you' and stepped back out into the rain. She didn't even mind how wet she got now. It was too late, she was already damp. She would need to change anyway. Might as well let the rain just claim her.

Suddenly, before she stepped up into the covered patio on the front of the building, a hand wrapped around her arm. She stopped, looked down at the hand and then up at Happy's ironically sad face. She could feel her heart drop slightly at that expression. She wanted to say something before Happy did, but she just couldn't.

"Miss Montgomery, please try to forgive him." Happy pleaded quietly. Fella could barely hear him over the pounding drums of rain. "If you don't forgive him, he'll never be able to forgive himself."

She wanted to say something snarky. 'He shouldn't be forgiven.' 'He deserves it.' 'He should fester in his guilt.' But Happy's expression made her mouth freeze, and nothing would come from it.

"Please." Happy repeated.

Fella nodded slowly, and (feeling like that was good enough) Happy let go of her arm. With that, she pulled her wet hair away from her face, walked into the hotel, and didn't look back. She had monsters she needed to face. She felt like she'd been burying them for too long, and it was time that she took care of them before they reared against her and consumed her completely.

Happy watched to make sure she stepped into the building alright, and then he slid back into his car. The engine hummed warmly underneath him as he revved the engine and started back toward the street.

"J, are you there?" Happy asked to no one in particular.

"Yes, sir, can I assist you?" Came the incredibly realistic voice from the stereo of the vehicle.

"You and I are going to devise a game."

"A game, sir?"

"To help Tony remember a girl named Felicia Montgomery."


	16. Amnesia Be Gone

_Flashback  
_

* * *

_"T-Tony?"_

_He didn't even notice her. Her pleadings were only met with the noisy laughter of his friends._

_"Anthony...? I... I'm leaving, Tony... My, my Mom, she..."_

_"Hang on, Fella." The twinkle of merriment in Tony's eyes darkened when he looked at her. She was ruining his fun, after all. How rude of her to simply interrupt what he was doing. Fella shrunk back, hiding her mouth and nose behind her hands. "I'm telling a story. Geez, wait for a minute, can't you?" And he turned back to his friends._

_Fella could hear their remarks about her — it wasn't as if they were taking any careful consideration in making sure she couldn't. "Tony, she's such a drag." "Impatient and all..." "Why do you let her hang around?"_

_"Tony..." Fella's expression deteriorated. She tried not to cry. She really did. And for what was a few moments, she was able to hold back her tears. Her voice came in strained, painful swells. "Tony, I only came back to get my things... I'm not... coming back to school, Tony..."_

_"Felicia, just hang on, okay?"_

_"Tony, my Mom... Mom, she... Tony, she..." Fella struggled for a moment or two longer, watching Tony laugh with his friends over some sick joke. Didn't he notice that she was crying behind him, biting nervously on her fingertips? A moment more, that was all Fella could stand, before she wiped her eyes and stumbled away from him down the hallway. She couldn't get the look in his eyes out of her head._

_He hated her. He looked like he hated her._

_"Oh my God, Fella..." Felicia was halfway down the hallway when a black-haired girl saw her. She dropped all heard things on the ground to pull the bleary eyed teen into a hug. "Fella, I heard what happened about your Mom. I am so sorry."_

_It wasn't the apology Fella wanted to hear, and it wasn't the person she wanted it from. But it was something. And it provided Fella with a complete sense of care and concern. She hugged back tightly, frustrated at the world and the downward spiral she was headed into._

_"Thank... Thank you, Vanessa."_

_Tony's laughter echoed down the hallway._

* * *

-xXx-

* * *

The storm in Malibu didn't stop for quite some time. All the newscasts predicted it to end, assuring everyone through the television that a hurricane was out of the question, that it was only rain, and that it would desist after a few more hours.

A few hours came and went while the rain stayed.

Thunder and lightning were gone, and instead Malibu was greeted with the simplicity of downpour— nothing more threatening than heavy rain and a light breeze. It didn't seem to trouble anyone very much. From her hotel window, in fact, Fella could see people across the street out on their covered balconies having a drink, dragging on cigarettes. They seemed to enjoy the weather.

Fella didn't. It was coupled with anxieties. Maybe it was the weather, or maybe it was Tony's urgent departure. Or maybe it was just because she'd gone into the hotel room to find that her mint ice cream was gone and that room service was closed up for the night. In any case, Fella didn't like it. She stood by the window, looking out through the water-warped glass into the dull nightlife of a soaking city. The television hummed on behind her, the only thing keeping her company.

It was remarkable. She was in a high-class hotel room with sheets made of silk and several different parlours. She was treated to everything she'd ever wanted in life. Her student fees were all on the backburner, and she'd even attracted the attention of a man that strutted across news headlines and basked in the golden glory of fame. And yet she was homesick. She wanted to trade in this upscale life for her run down apartment. She wanted to trade Tony for Vanessa's harpings and the dirty windows of her tiny room. She wanted the perfume smell gone, and the musty mildew smell back. She wished she'd never been forced to confront all this mayhem.

The phone's shrill cry rang through the air. It wasn't the hotel phone, Fella was surprised to find. It was her own personal cell phone, which had remained quiet for several days. She picked it up and answered, surprised at the fact that she almost didn't know which button was which.

"Hi." She said bleakly. There wasn't any mood for proper civilities. Whoever was calling her at such an obscure hour would have to deal with casualty. "Fella. Shoot."

"Montgomery!" Came the almost mechanical-sounding voice from the speaker. "Three weeks! Can you believe how time flies." Daveth's British accent seemed even more fake than usual over the phone that particular night.

"Three weeks already? It's been three weeks?" Fella said in awe. "It doesn't feel like it's been three weeks..."

"October's come and gone. The office sent you an email today regarding your return, but I thought I might phone you... Just to remind you a little more. I don't want to have to pay any extra hotel fees that Stark Industries won't cover when your stay hits its deadline."

"I see. Just calling me to make sure I don't wrack up any extra money, then?"

"And to ask how the article has come along. You've been working on it, I'd hope?"

Glancing down at a black binder next to her laptop, Fella hesitated for a heartbeat. She knew there were notes inside about Tony's missteps. Plenty for an essay, let alone an article. Her voice, however, felt strained and conflicted when she answered —

"Yes, just... Give me a day or so to rough out a final draft."

"There'll be plenty of time to do that when you're back here in the office. I'd assume you're coming back within the next day or so, correct?" His tone was defined. It wasn't a question. It was a chance for Fella to get on his good side — a chance for her to acknowledge authority, a chance for him to undermine her like he always did.

"Yes, Mr. Winston. I'll be back in New York in the next couple days."

"I'd like you to fly out tomorrow."

"I'll try."

"There isn't any trying in this business, Montgomery."

"Fella."

"Only doing."

"If you say so."

"Until you return then, Montgomery!"

"Call me Fella."

The phoneline went dead. Fella clicked her phone closed and let it slide out of her fingers onto the bed. Nothing really set in. She didn't comprehend that she was leaving the next day, and she didn't recognize that she would need to get her notes together and write an article. The rain did a good job at washing away all those thoughts. And maybe that was why the people liked it. Maybe that was why they drank their whiskey and sat on their porches. Because they didn't have to worry about tomorrow— when the rain was pouring tonight.

* * *

-xXx-

* * *

Happy had never been more anxious. And that. That was saying something when you work with Anthony Stark. Terrorists, criminals, random one-night-stands, anything was less stressful than this. And Happy couldn't help but get the feeling that he was an infant — sitting there by the window and buzzing in the thought of Tony coming home. His stomach was fluttering with nerves. There were multiple things that could go wrong, after all, and Tony might not even receive the moral of the story, which would be a tragic waste of time on Happy's end. The hours he'd spent working with JARVIS to polish this whole thing up... Who knew that artificial intelligences could be so difficult to explain things to? Guess it just wasn't in the programming.

If Happy had to hear one more "But sir..." he

would punch something viciously and with great spite.

"The Pharaoh is home," Happy suddenly said excitedly, throwing himself animatedly from the window. He rushed toward Tony's massive parlor to wait by the stairs. "I repeat, the Pharaoh is home!"

"Why must we use such juvenile nicknames, sir? They don't even make any sense..."

"Jaguar, you need to stop complaining. This is all in the plan, trust me. You remember what to do, I hope?"

"Unfortunately."

"If you use that tone of voice, Tony's gonna know something's up..."

"Like he won't already, right?"

"I see why he wants to throw you out a window now."

But the argument was cut short as Tony trotted up the stairs from the garage. He saw Happy when he was halfway up and immediately got suspicious. Rubbing the back of his neck, Tony passed his bodyguard with narrowed eyes. Anthony looked worn, exhausted, obviously sore from being in the Iron Man suit for a prolonged amount of time... He seemed more than ready to shut out society, drink alcohol, and take a bath for over three hours.

"Everything all wrapped up overseas?" Happy asked normally, moving to the bar to pour Tony some liquid fire to calm his nerves.

"Like Christmas." Tony said softly. "Happy, what are you even doing here? I mean, don't get me wrong. I love you, man, but why are you in my house?"

"Is that any way to treat a house guest?" Happy uncorked a bottle of scotch.

"Yeah, I like to think so. Not like you're very much of a guest though, is it? You're the one pouring the drinks. Like, rude."

"Just trying to be cordial." Happy gave the bar a light kick. He didn't know if JARVIS would get the message. But the game needed to begin before Tony decided to lock himself in his basement and play with all his little scientific toys to rid himself of all the bottled emotions he was holding.

And JARVIS delivered.

"Sir, my system needs recalibrating again," JARVIS sighed. Even machines knew how to sound irritated. Tony, however, seemed the most peeved by this. He flipped around with his glass of scotch, barely sparing the carpet from its spill.

"What do you mean 'recalibrating?' I just recalibrated you last week, what are you complaining about?"

"Sir, it won't take longer than a few minutes. And I've already formulated a recalibrating test, you need to do nothing more than answer a few simple questions. Unless you want me to be less than perfect in operating. In which case, I hope it sounds appealing to have a flawed machine make your coffee in the mornings and help you devise chemical reactions in the lab... I might accidentally get the two mixed up..."

Tony looked back and forth from Happy to the ceiling with suspicion dripping from his expression. "Why do I feel like that was a threat?"

Happy grinned.

JARVIS, despite his obvious lack of facial features, probably smirked.

And Tony sat on the couch heavily, throwing himself into facepalm-position. "Fine, recalibrating. Whatever. Let's be quicklike here, I'm not in the mood for games."

"The concept is very simple, really. I've designed it to be as little taxing on you as possible in the scenario that you were irritable, and since you seem extremely irritable at the moment, I think it would be wise to implement the most simple game."

"You are treading on some damn thin ice here, J." Tony mumbled darkly from between his fingers.

"Right." JARVIS paused. "It goes like this. I'll say a certain word, and you say the first thing that comes to your mind. Alright?"

"Are you kidding me?"

"Sir, you said you would cooperate."

"This is like second grade all over again."

"Sir."

"FINE." Tony flew back into the pillows of the couch, practically burying himself in them. And he made sure to shoot Happy a malicious glare from his resting point. Since now he was getting the twisted feeling that this was some con to get Tony to clean the bathroom for the first time in weeks. "Give me the first one, then."

"Blue." JARVIS started.

"Sky." Came Tony's reply.

"Ooh, how original." Happy crooned from the bar, keeping his eyes down to avoid the inevitable glare that Tony was loading into his eye-gun.

"Tea." JARVIS continued.

"A drink with jam and bread."

"Red."

"The blood of angry men."

"Tony," JARVIS said after a slight pause. "Stop it."

"FINE. Killjoy. Go again."

"Ferocious."

"Tiger."

"Perfection."

"Me."

"Wealthy."

"Also me."

"Successful."

"Still me."

"Arrogant."

"Me ag— wait. Nevermind."

"Ancient."

"I dunno. Ruins? Pyramids...?"

"Listen."

"Music."

"Felicia."

"Montgomery."

JARVIS didn't give another word after that. Everything seemed to go absolutely silent. It took a moment for Tony to comprehend what had just come from his own mouth. One moment, he was picking something from his shirt, and the next his eyes flicked up in sudden realization.

"Felicia...?" He muttered quietly to himself. It was all a puzzle to him. Something that he'd left the pieces of scattered around, and after so long... It took a few moments to find them all and put them together. "Fella... She... I..."

This, reader, was the moment when Tony suddenly looked like he'd been hit with a freight train. He flailed his arms around, throwing pillows all across the living room (another thing JARVIS would have to attend to... Hmph...) until he accidentally fell off the couch. Throwing himself back into a sitting position, eyes wild and hair completely un-styled, Tony cried out —

"I AM SUCH AN IDIOT."

"Yes," JARVIS agreed cordially, "yes you are."

"ARGH." Tony dragged his hands down his face and flailed around a little more. And after another second or two, he flew back into a non-seizing position. "Fella... As in REPORTER FELLA. As in that stupid little flame writer that came to tear me up... THAT'S MY COLORBLIND CHILDHOOD PARTNER IN CRIME?!"

Happy nodded.

And Tony went back to flailing.

Happy caught a few words here or there in his estranged shrieking. Like "IT WAS SO OBVIOUS." and "The air guitars OH MY GOD I'M STUPID." and even "I CANNOT BELIEVE I AM SUCH AN ARROGANT, BLIND, ASKDLDJFODNFJSNCOSMDBCUFO." Followed promptly by Tony throwing his face into the nearest pillow, and screaming in a pitch that would royally piss off an animal shelter.

"JARVIS," Happy said cooly, taking a sip of his drink and watching as Tony proceeded to throw things from the coffee table across the room. "You're getting all this on video, right?"

"In high definition."

"Awesome."

Tony suddenly began a poignant, meaningful quest through the couch. He threw cushions out of his way and dug his hands frantically into the sides.

"Tony, Uh..." Happy smacked his lips. "What are you looking for?"

"MY KEYS, DAMN YOU."

"You mean these ones?" Happy pointed at the counter, where the keys were residing merrily in plain daylight.

"YES." Tony shrieked maliciously, clawing his way up the three stairs to the bar and poking his crazy eyes over the counter. "THOSE ONES." Then he snatched them in his fist and shambled quickly down the stairs for the garage.

"Do you think he knows he's missing a sock?" Happy asked simply after Tony had disappeared.

"Of course not."

* * *

-xXx-

* * *

Tony hadn't been this nervous in a very long time. Which was odd. Just the day previous, he had been shooting at terrorists. Putting his life on the line in his suit, not even knowing if he would be headed home the next day. But as he approached the main counter of Felicia's hotel, his hands and feet started to tingle with anxiety.

"How can I help you, Mr. Stark?" The lady behind the counter asked simply, trying not to make note of Tony's bedhead-hair.

"I'm visiting, I want to see Fella...er, Felicia. Room eighteen." her name bore much more weight in his mouth now. And he couldn't help but feel a wave of regret whenever he thought about her. It was a mix of emotion... And he didn't know what he was going to say to her. He didn't know what he was going to do. Maybe he would apologize, maybe he would hug her, maybe he would—

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark—"

She didn't even have to finish talking. Tony was already crushed.

"— she checked out last night."


End file.
